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major-mads · 11 months ago

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Chapter 13: At Last

John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: GUYS! Sorry for the SUPER long delay! I went out of the country for a while and had some other things come up, but here we are...the long-awaited chapter!! enjoy!

For some reason, tumblr won't let me tag more than 5 people, so I'll tag people in the comments instead!

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 9.4k

Wednesday, October 27, 1943: Stalag Luft III: Sagan, Germany: 1000 HRS

The dull scrapes of pencils, the ticking of the clock, and the sniffles of Jimmy Lambert in the far corner of the room were the only things keeping Ruth Morgan sane. She sat at her desk fidgeting with her ink pen as she stared down at the paper before her. Her eyes drifted over the page numerous times, but her mind was in no state to absorb information, even information as mundane as an analysis of characters in Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

5 Days Earlier

“We thought you were dead,” Murphy muttered from where he sat at the center table in the girls’ room. “They, uh, they said there were no chutes, ma’am.”

Frank’s brows furrowed slightly, his fingers brushing over his mustache. “No chutes? Someone saw us go down?”

“Apparently. No one would tell us anything,” Crank added matter-of-factly, but his voice softened as he continued.” Especially not Buck or Bucky. We had to find out what happened through the grapevine.”

With Hope asleep on her bunk, the room’s eyes shifted to Ruth at the mention of the majors. She sat silently at the table, her eyes glistening in the room’s low light as she stared at the roughened wood before her. If everyone thought they were dead, she could only imagine how John must have reacted. How would she have reacted?

“John,” she shakily breathed, raising her teary gaze to the men. “How-How is he? ”

As soon as the words left her lips, Glenn shifted awkwardly in his seat and glanced at Crank and Murph, who acted much the same. Ruth’s brow creased in concern, her eyes searching their faces for answers when Frank draped his arm over the back of her chair. After a few moments, Glen sighed.

“He took it hard, ma’am. Both him, Buck, and Sparky. Bucky, he, uh…” Glen’s eyes flicked to his friend’s desperately for help, and Murph straightened in his chair, coming to the co-pilot's aid.

“Harding made him take a pass to London, but Buck went down over Bremen the day he got there, so he came back early to lead the next mission.”

“Münster was a frickin’ turkey shoot,” Crank grumbled. ”The Zig went down before us…We saw what? 9 chutes?”

Ruth’s breath hitched, and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her fingers digging into her palms. “Nine chutes,” she repeated softly, her voice trembling. “But Johnny? Have y’all seen him since?”

The room fell silent, the weight of Ruth’s question hanging heavily in the air. The men exchanged uneasy glances, the shadows in their eyes deepening.

Cruikshank cleared his throat, his voice low. “No. We haven’t seen him. None of us have.”

Ruth’s heart sank and a wave of fear crashed over her. Her vision blurred with unshed tears as she tried to process the news. “So, you don’t know if he’s...”

“It’s Bucky,” Crank nodded. “He’ll make it.”

She nodded, biting her lip to keep from crying. John was either evading, captured, or dead in a German field somewhere. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, not after everything they’d been through. Not after she’d told herself he was safe back at Thorpe Abbotts, convinced herself that he’d be waiting for her.

“Lieutenant Morgan?” A voice called out, but it barely registered in her mind.

“Lieutenant?” the voice repeated, more insistent this time.

Ruth continued to stare blankly at the paper, her mind caught in the memory, but when a shadow fell across her desk, she finally blinked. Her gaze slowly lifted to see one of her students standing there with concern etching his face. “Ruth, are you alright?” he asked softly.

“Oh,” she murmured, shaking her head slightly to clear the memory. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. Need some help?”

George, a 20 year old, baby-faced lieutenant with sandy hair and a kind expression, looked at her with a mixture of worry and sympathy. “You seem a bit…distant,” he said carefully. “Are you alright? Did something happen? Did the goons-”

Ruth forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes, and interrupted his endearing rambling. “I’m fine, George. Just got a lot on my mind. Thanks for asking.”

He nodded, although not entirely convinced. “This class…it helps all of us so much. So if there’s anything we can do to help, please let us know.”

“I appreciate that, really. How’s your work going?”

George glanced back at the table where his papers were spread out. “It’s going well. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Her heart warmed at his concern. These young men relied on her, and she couldn’t let them down. “Thank you, George. I’ll be alright. If you need any help with your work, let me know.”

He gave her a small smile and returned to his table, leaving Ruth to gather her scattered thoughts. She took a deep breath and refocused on the task at hand, pushing her worries about John to the back of her mind for the moment. She had to stay strong. For herself, for her friends, and for the young men in her classes that clung to their lessons for a sense of normalcy.

1600 HRS: 4 PM

Ruth sat at room four’s table, attempting to organize her lesson plans, the soft scratch of a pencil the only sound in the room. No one had seen Hope since she left toward the infirmary following the 6am roll call, but it was almost time for her to come back. Murphy and Charlie Cruikshank lay in their beds staring up at the wooden slats above their heads. Glenn was off with Frank Martin checking out the garden and harvesting the last of the vegetables before winter came. The chill in the morning and evening air were sure signs it was coming, and fast.

“How was class today?” Murphy asked, sending her a half-smile from his bunk. Since their arrival, the three newcomers kept a close eye on the women.

“It was okay,” she groaned, placing a paper in her ‘graded’ stack. “I’ve got a lot of papers to grade.”

A few moments later, the echo of the siren at the entrance gate cut through the silence of the room. The men sprang to their feet and ran out the door, but Ruth remained in her seat, shaking her head with a grin.

“Ruth, you comin’?” Murphy asked, poking his head around the doorframe.

She shook her head, glancing up from her work. “No, but y’all go ahead. I’ll be fine in here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Ruth insisted, “Go on!”

With a final nod, Frank followed Crank out of the block, their boots echoing down the hallway. The room fell silent again, and Ruth took a deep breath. She picked up Macbeth, hoping to distract herself from the gnawing anxiety that settled in her chest. The words on the page blurred together as her mind wandered back to John. Between Hope pulling away and his unknown fate on top of the uncertainty of captivity, it was all she could do to keep functioning.

The silence of the room was comforting yet heavy as the minutes ticked by, her mind drifting to the events of the past month. With a sigh, she closed her book and began to tidy up the room. Humming softly to herself, cleared and wiped down the table. With mud, dirt and everything else caked onto the surface, getting it off was a chore.

Knock. Knock.

“Come on in.” She called, her back to the door that slowly creaked open. “Anyone interesting come in today?”

No response. The silence felt odd.

Sighing, Ruth turned toward the entrance. “If y’all don’t start cleaning up, too-”

When Ruth’s gaze landed on the figure in the doorway, she didn’t feel her grip on the rag loosening, didn’t hear it hit the ground. All she could focus on was the man standing before her. He was battered and bruised, his uniform torn and dirty, but his eyes…his glossy blues were the same that filled her dreams, her cherished memories.

“John,” she whimpered, her voice barely above a hoarse whisper as tears welled in her eyes.

He slowly took a step into the room. “Hey, Ruthie.”

They simply stood there for a moment, locked in each other’s gaze. But then, a wide smile grew on his face and he crossed the room, throwing his arms around her small figure. Beneath his hold, John felt the sharpness of her features, the way she seemed impossibly smaller…but his mind quickly pushed away the thought because this was the moment he’d dreamed of.

Ruth instantly returned the embrace with a choked sob, holding him as tightly as she could while John buried his face in her neck. His arms were warm and sturdy, familiar in a way that made her feel whole again.

Pulling back, he tearily grinned at her and gently cupped her face, resting his forehead against hers. “I love you,” he whispered quickly. “I should’ve told you, but I just-”

“Thank God. I love you, too,” Ruth interrupted with her own teary laugh. “I love you, John Egan.”

“I thought you were gone.”

She sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. “I know, I know. But I’m right here. I’m right here.”

Unable to hold off any longer, John kissed her gently, cradling her jaw as he connected their lips. The world melted away and they got lost in each other’s presence for a few moments until Ruth pulled away, her eyes taking in the damage done to his face. It was a mess of cuts and bruises, his right eye swollen and bloodshot. As a nurse, she was used to seeing people in pain, but seeing John in such a state caused that barrier to crumble.

“Oh honey,” she said softly as her thumb brushed lightly over a bruise on his cheek. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He nodded and allowed her to lead him over to the table where he perched atop it. As he sat down, Ruth hurriedly grabbed their first aid kit from under Hope’s bunk before returning to his side. He seemed to notice her sling for the first time and concern flashed across his face.

“Your arm, doll.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she dismissed him, unwrapping some gauze and dabbing it with alcohol. “This happened when I, uh, bailed. Broke it when I went through some trees on the way down.”

John’s saw clenched as the next question filtered through his mind before leaving his lips. His voice was quiet with a barely contained rage at the thought of her suffering at the hands of their captors. “The Krauts. They haven’t...They haven’t touched you, have they?”

“No. Thank God.”

He visibly deflated. “Good.”

Silence again filled the room as she worked carefully to clean the cuts marring his face. When she inspected his it further, she noted the swelling and his bloodshot right eye. “Johnny, this is bad,” she whispered, her fingers trembling as she brushed over the injury. “Can you see okay? Any double vision?”

“Sometimes, but I’m fine, doll. Really. Strong as an ox.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Ruth, I’m alright…”

“Take off your shirt, John,” she demanded quietly.

Ruth expected a half-baked joke to fall from his lips, but when it didn’t, her heart sank. He sighed, gritting his teeth as he attempted to take off his jacket. Even the smallest movement felt like murder, and all he wanted to do was lie down, but she was there. Their reunion had pushed down the pain but it came rushing back in that moment.

“Here. Let me help.”

She carefully helped him remove his A2 jacket and unzip his flight suit down to his waist, revealing a dirty, once-white tank top underneath. As she slowly lifted the tank top, John’s jaw clenched and a few pained grunts escaped his lips when he raised his arms. The sight that greeted her was worse than she had feared. His torso was a canvas of bruises, the worst of which spread diagonally across his back. The center was an angry mix of red and purple, while the edges were turning a sickly brownish green.

“Oh, God,” she breathed, her voice cracking as she stared at the damage. Ruth’s eyes filled with tears and she raised a hand to cover her mouth. John set his jaw and stared at the floor silently, unable to meet her gaze. Her hands hesitantly touched the largest bruise across his back with feather-light pressure.

“What happened?” she asked shakily as a tear streaked down her cheek.

Should he tell her? Subject her to the horrors he’d experienced in the month they’d been apart? He’d want to know. He wanted to know what happened to her, but the thought of watching his sweet, gentle, and caring Ruth crumble as he explained that night’s events and the days that followed was enough of a deterrent.

“I think it was a club,” he replied before glancing up at her with a exhausted smirk. It didn’t quite reach his eyes but he gave it anyways. “Chump had a terrible swing, though. Could’ve batted cleanup for the Braves with the season they're having.”

Deflection. His favorite game, favorite defense. Strong John Egan, the 418th’s CO, Major in the Army Air Force, didn’t want to think about the most helpless moment in his life. Didn’t want to think about how terrified he’d been. Bucky thought he was going to die as he sputtered for air on the ground that night, warm blood running down his face. Through the ringing in his ears and the pain in his head, he heard gunshot after gunshot echo off the brick buildings. Each sent a comrade to their grave, and he knew the next was for him…

“Hey. Please don’t do that,” said Ruth quietly.

“Do what?”

“You know what.”

With a sigh, he turned his gaze back to the dusty paneled floor. “Me and a group of guys from the 381st were taken through a town, and the people…they just went crazy. I got knocked in the head a few times.”

Ruth swallowed thickly and took his face gently in her hands, tilting it up from the floor to meet her gaze. “What else?”

“Doll,” he sighed, his voice rising slightly as he reached out and gently grasped her waist, pulling her to stand between his legs. “I don’t think you should-”

“I want to know.”

“Well, I’d rather talk about you.”

Ruth blinked, momentarily taken back. “Me?” she repeated, her voice incredulous. “Johnny, look at you. You’re the one who’s hurt.”

“I know, but right now I just want to forget about it,” John said with the purse of his lips. “Tell me what happened…how you’ve been holding up.

Her eyes searched his face for any sign of his usual bravado, but she saw none and relented, taking a deep breath as she tried to shift her focus to herself.

“We went through a flak field and fighters…they came out of nowhere. Killed our copilot,” she admitted quietly, still slotted between his legs. Ruth reached up, her fingers gently running through his dark curls, soothing his worried mind with each stroke. “Bailing was terrifying, and then we were captured and separated…it’s been a nightmare.” she sniffled quietly. “Definitely not what I expected when I joined up. But you’re here, now, and that makes things much better. Not that I want you to be here, but-”

John cut off her stressed ramble with a kiss. It was filled with more urgency as if to assure himself that she was really there, not just a figment of his imagination, not just a dream. She pulled back gently and placed a hand on his chest, a smooth metal chain beneath her touch.

Her cross.

“You kept it?”

“It was all I had left of you. I never took it off.”

Tears once again burned in her eyes but she quickly blinked them away. “Enough about me. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” she said softly. “I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

He nodded reluctantly and Ruth went back to carefully tending to his face. As she worked, she continued talking in a feeble attempt to distract him from the pain. “Frank’s been looking out for us the whole time, and since your guys got here last week, they’ve done the same.”

John flinched as she cleaned a deep gash on his temple. “Good,” he managed through gritted teeth. “They’re. How’s Hope? I know Buck’s in another compound.”

“She’s not good. Hasn’t been sleeping because of nightmares, so Frank and I have tried to stay up with her… but she just shuts us out. We don’t know what to do.”

Johnny frowned, concern deepening the lines on his bruised face. “Hope’s tough but it sounds like you’ve both been through hell. It just looks like it’s taking her more time, doll.”

“I know, but it’s so hard to see her like this. She won’t talk to me, John. She won’t open up. I-I don’t know how to help her,” she whispered, her hands trembling as she carefully dabbed a cut on his eyebrow.

He reached up and gently cupped her cheek. “Hey, listen to me,” he said softly, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that escaped down her cheek. “You’re doing everything you can. Some people just need to deal with things their own way, in their own time.”

“But what if she never does?” Ruth whispered, her voice breaking. “What if I can’t help her?”

The major’s heart ached at the pain in her big blue eyes, and he pulled her closer, gently wrapping his arms around her waist. “She’ll come around. I know it.”

Just then, a series of rapid knocks on the door interrupted them, followed by the sound of familiar voices. “Ruth, Bucky, you two decent in there?”

She quickly wiped away her tears. John looked up, wincing slightly as he tried to sit up straight. “Come on in, you dodos,” he called out.

The door swung open, and Murph, Crank, and Glenn hurried into the room. Their eyes widened when they took in the sight of John’s bruised body.

“Shit,” Crank muttered. “Bucky, what did they do to you?”

Murphy’s face twisted in concern. “You look like you went ten rounds with a freight train and lost,” he said with the shake of his head. “You alright?”

John gave them a weak grin. “Just fine, boys. You should see the other guy.”

“If you say so, sir,” Graham grimaced.

Ruth helped John back into his shirt and into a seat, and the men sat around the table, asking John about the Münster mission, what happened to his plane, and if he knew about any of the other guys from his crew. While they spoke, her mind wandered to Frank and Hope. It was almost 5:30, almost time for supper…if you could call half a potato and a tiny sausage-looking meat stick supper.

Noticing her far-off stare, John placed a gentle hand on her thigh beneath the table and remained in the conversation, his touch offering little comfort against her worry. It wasn’t until the door creaked open a few minutes later that she could finally breathe. Frank and Hope appeared in the doorway, freezing as their eyes fell upon the group. The group’s hushed voices ceased and a few chairs scraped back as they turned to see who had entered. She felt John move beside her, turning to face the pair.

“Hope! Frank! You’re back. Ruth’s been telling me all about you both since the crash.” John cracked a wide smile and Ruth noticed the way his eyes softened as they fell on Hope.

Frank stood behind Hope in the doorway, his eyes widening when his gaze fell on Bucky. He stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “It’s good to see you, Major, sorry it’s not under better circumstances.”

John shrugged, his arm coming back around to rest on Ruth’s shoulders, “We’re at war Captain, worse things could have happened. To think that of all the camps I could have gone to I ended up back with my girl. It could have been worse, I could have been stuck in a different compound like Buck and…”

The room fell silent and all eyes fell to Hope. Ruth held in the small gasp that threatened to fall from her lips. She saw Hope’s eyes trail to the floor, her brown eyes fighting against her emotions.

“Ahh, Hope, I didn’t mean…” John began, his face etched with concern as he realized the weight of his words.

“It’s fine, John. Really, it’s good to have you back. It’s nice to see Ruth so happy again.”

Hope sent her friend a sincere smile and the blonde returned it, her shoulders relaxing a little. Ruth wasn’t convinced that was the truth, but to know Hope wasn’t about to run out on her again brought her a small amount of comfort. Everyone walked on eggshells around Hope. It was like she was an unexploded bomb that needed to be handled with such delicacy in fear of her going off at any moment.

Hope sat herself down on her bunk, her dark eyes trailing over the group. Frank joined in the conversation and Ruth took that as her moment to slip out of John’s grasp and make her way over to her friend.

Hope didn’t notice Ruth approaching her until the bed dipped beside her.

“How are you doing?” Ruth asked, slipping her hand into Hope’s and squeezing it gently. “You’ve been really quiet since Gale arrived.”

Ruth wanted to approach the subject but also didn’t want to drive her friend away further. She knew she’d have to be careful with her probing questions…one false move and Hope could close in on herself again.

“I’m fine, Rue, really. Work’s just been busy and I’ve not been sleeping well, but I promise I’m fine,” she forced a smile that stretched across her pale cheeks. Ruth could see the dark, purple skin beneath her friends eyes and the way her skin pulled tightly across her cheekbones. She had always considered her friend to be beautiful, so striking with her dark hair and red lipstick, but now she look like a ghost of her former self.

Ruth wasn’t convinced. Her once bright eyes looked tiredly at Hope, breaking her heart even more.

What had become of them?

2200 HRS: 10 PM

The afternoon passed with introductions to fellow prisoners and supper, along with John’s first evening roll call. By lights out, the major was half-asleep in his chair around the table, pure exhaustion wafting off him after the journey he had from Dulag Luft. Everyone else was lying quietly in their bunks, leaving John, Ruth, and Crank alone at the table. She watched with a softened gaze as Bucky’s eyes drooped again and again. It was adorable, the way he continued to fight it, but Ruth knew he was beyond tired. She shared a glance with Crank across the table before returning her eyes to John’s half-lidded ones.

“Come on,” Ruth patted his shoulder gently, his eyes opening wider. “Let’s get you into bed.”

John blinked a few times, trying to gather his thoughts. “Yeah, okay,” he murmured, pushing himself up from the table with a barely concealed wince.

That afternoon, they decided he would get the bunk above Ruth’s. If their roommates were being honest, they guessed one of the beds would be empty more often than not. It wasn’t an easy task getting all six-foot-something of John up onto the second-row bunk, but he gritted his teeth and swallowed the pain as he climbed into the bed.

Charlie stood to help, but Johnny waved him off. “I’m good,” he insisted, though his voice lacked its usual strength.

“Sure you don’t,” Crank replied with a knowing eye-roll but stayed close just in case.

John gritted his teeth and tried to climb onto the second-row bunk on his own. He managed to get one leg up before a sharp pain shot through his side, making him grunt and pause.

“Let us help,” Ruth whispered.

He nodded reluctantly, the fight leaving him as he sighed. “Alright, alright. Just this once.”

Crank and Ruth each took an arm, Charlie doing more than the blonde, and they carefully helped him up onto the bunk. Only a small wince left his lips despite the ever-present ache throughout his whole body. Once he settled on the narrow mattress, he took a long breath.

“See? Easy,” he joked weakly, slightly out of breath from the movement.

Charlie clapped him gently on the shoulder before heading to his own bunk. “Sure, Bucky.”

Standing beside his bunk, Ruth’s face was slightly taller than eye level. She looked down at him with worry swirling in her mind. The cuts, the bruising, his eye, the avoidance…it all worried her. She wanted to know what happened. Needed to know. How could she be there for him if she didn’t know what he went through?

“You alright?” he asked sleepily, his face only visible from the moonlight streaming through the room’s small window. “What’s going through that head of yours?”

Ruth sighed and raised her hand to play with the messy curls hanging over his forehead. “I missed you. So much. Being here…it gives you a lot of time to think. Makes you realize what’s important. Who’s important. A part of me thought I’d never see you again.”

“Well, I’m here now, and I promise I’m not gonna leave you again, alright? I meant what I said earlier, doll. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she replied softly, kissing his cheek. “Get some rest, okay? You need it.”

Groaning, john tiredly raised his eyebrows. “Come on. That’s all I get?”

“So needy,” Ruth smirked with the roll of her eyes before kissing him properly. “Now really go to sleep, hotshot.”

A pleased smile curved John’s lips as his eyes slipped closed. “Night, Ruthie.

She gave him one last tender look before stepping back and moving to her own bunk below his. For the first night in a month, the overwhelming sense of doom, of panic, seemed to lessen, and she drifted off to sleep easily. Bucky, however, was subjected to the same nightmare that visited him nightly.

Smoke and flames burned his eyes as he frantically looked around him. The twisted metal of the Angel lay scattered around the field, its normal green paint charred in the blaze. John stumbled over the debris, his heart pounding as he searched for any sign of life. The plane was nearly unrecognizable, the once proud C-47 reduced to a smoldering heap of metal and fire. John’s eyes darted frantically across the field, the smoke filling his lungs. He coughed violently and his hands trembled as he clawed his way through the debris. Then, in the fire’s dim light, he saw her…but the vibrance of her eyes was gone as she blankly stared up at the sky.

“No, no, no,” he gasped, his heart skipping as he rushed to her side, but his hands passed through her as if she was a ghost.

John jolted awake with a gasp, and his heart pounded in his chest. His heaving chest was drenched with sweat as he tried to get his bearings. For a moment, he was disoriented, and the line between dream and reality blurred. But as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he remembered where he was. The stalag. Ruth was alive. He’d seen her, held her. But the lingering fear from the nightmare gnawed at him.

Ignoring the pain that shot through his body with every movement, Johnny carefully climbed down from his bunk and lowered himself slowly to the floor, wincing as his bruised ribs protested.

He felt uneasy. An unnerving feeling spread through him as he turned and met a dark pair of eyes watching him from the window. His breath caught in his throat as his heart continued to pound. Hope watched him sympathetically. Her own eyes were rimmed red and her small frame looked childlike in her oversized coveralls bunched up against the window. The pair exchanged no words as John shuffled closer to Ruth’s cot. Leaning against the post of Ruth’s bunk, he fixed his eyes on her sleeping form. She looked so peaceful, her chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. He reached out hesitantly and lightly brushed a strand of hair from her face. Bucky had watched her for what felt like hours when she finally stirred.

Ruth’s eyelids fluttered open as if finally sensing his presence, and she blinked sleepily, her eyes focusing on the figure sitting beside her bed.

“Johnny?” she whispered, her voice heavy with sleep. “Why are you on the floor?”

He pursed his lips. “No reason. It reminded me of my lovely cell back at Dulag Luft.”

A small sigh left Ruth’s lips as she watched him in the dim light. Through the bruises and the bravado, she saw a wounded man…one wounded physically, emotionally, and mentally.

“John.”

The silence that followed was filled with Murph’s quiet snores.

“I, uh, just wanted to check on you,” the major murmured after a moment, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap, his eyes stuck on them. “To make sure you’re okay…That this isn’t some messed-up dream.”

It was then that Ruth remembered what the others said…He took it hard. But what all did that entail? Did he go out and drink himself away every night or did he pick up his old habits with women? She didn’t know, but what she did know was that he was there, they were finally together.

“Hey,” she whispered, sitting up and reaching out to him. She gently ran her hand through his greasy curls. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”

John’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, she saw raw vulnerability in them, but the strong facade quickly returned. He thought back to the long nights in the Officer’s Club, sitting around the bar with a drink in his hand, just trying to drown out the memories that followed him everywhere. John couldn’t go to Dickleburgh, couldn’t bear Tommy asking about Ruth, asking when he’d see her again. The first and only time it happened, Buck and Kidd looked at him warily, unsure whether he’d crumble or explode as Tommy stared up at him with his signature toothy grin. John simply took a big gulp of his pint and clenched his jaw, telling Tommy she’d be gone for a while. He didn’t remember much after that moment, but he remembered waking up the next morning with one of the worst hangovers of his life. He awoke knowing he couldn’t face Tommy or the memories that mercilessly replayed in his mind.

He nodded and softly took her hand, running his thumb over the top of it as he spoke. “Yeah. I know. It’s just…They told us the Angel went down. Said there were no survivors. We - uh - spent the past month thinking both you and Hope were dead. I-”

Bucky trailed off and looked away from Ruth, his gaze focusing on the dusty floor beside him. He couldn’t stop the burn in his eyes at the thought of the past month. He was no stranger to pain, to loss. Losing his father was heartbreaking, as was losing man after man as the war went on. But Ruth? Losing Ruth was the worst pain he’d ever felt. And to think, Haussmann was the reason he knew she was alive after all that time.

“Johnny, look at me,” Ruth murmured as she softly turned his face toward her. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone. I wish more than anything I could’ve made it back to you.”

He blinked away the tears glistening in his eyes and took a deep breath with a nod. “Me, too, doll. Me, too.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, both soaking in the loving gaze of the other. Ruth noted the flecks of grey in his blue eyes. The grey reminded her of the clouds that almost always hung in the sky around The Grove and Thorpe Abbotts. A dog’s bark in the distance broke their trance, and Ruth lightly tugged on his hand.

“Come here.”

He hesitated but then slowly climbed onto the bunk, wincing quietly as he did so. Ruth made space for him, which wasn’t much, but they managed to fit. He lay on his back and she nestled herself on top of him, her body conforming to the limited space they had.

“Are you alright?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his face for any signs of discomfort.

John nodded, his mind finally able to rest with her in his arms. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No, Ruthie, you’re not hurting me. I promise.”

She carefully laid her head on his chest, her ear over his heart. The steady rhythm was comforting, a reminder that he was alive and here with her. That she was alive. Tears welled up in her eyes again as she clung to him.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, sitting up on his chest and peering down at him. “I was worried sick about you. I couldn’t focus in class…”

“Class?”

Ruth’s lips formed a sheepish smile. “Yeah, I-uh,” she sniffled quietly, “teach English to some of the other kriegies.”

With a huff of air and a shake of his head, he relaxed against the straw pillow, staring at the wooden slats above him as a faint smile grew on his face. Since his capture, John had thought about how much his life was changing. The freedom he cherished would be gone, and no one knew how long he’d be stuck in the camp under German rule. But then there was Ruth, already stepping up and helping out where she could, not wallowing in self-pity like he had already begun to.

“What?” she asked, sitting back up on his chest.

“Just you. You’re just amazing. Even here.”

Ruth blushed and her eyes dropped to his chest as she absent-mindedly traced patterns on his shirt. “It helps me feel like I’m doing something, you know? Like I’m not just sitting around, waiting for the war to end. It gives me purpose.”

“At least you’re able to do what you love. Those kids back home were lucky to have ya, and now these guys are, too.”

“It’s not the same, but it helps. And they seem to appreciate it,” she said, looking up at him.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “I bet they do. Doesn’t hurt that you’re gorgeous, either. You never stop amazing me, doll.”

She shook her head, smiling. “I don’t know about that. It gets my mind off of everything, though…Got my mind off you.”

He stared at her for a moment, really looking at the woman before him. She’d been through hell and was more worried about him than herself…him, who up two weeks prior had been sleeping in a warm bed in England while she was being forced across Germany.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Johnny murmured, tightening his hold on Ruth as his arms wrapped protectively around her. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

His question brought back a memory, and Ruth found herself being transported back to Thorpe Abbotts, to the night of Dye’s party when he’d asked the same thing. Everything was so different then. In that small hall bathroom in the Officer’s Club, John had also asked her to come to London with him.

Oh, the things that would never be…or at least wouldn’t happen in the foreseeable future.

Her hand found its way to his cheek as she spoke. “You didn’t have to do anything, remember? I love you. Don’t let anything tell you different.”

A few seconds passed before John sighed and looked up at the bunk above him. “You know, when I thought you were gone, I-I didn’t handle it too well. I drank…A lot. Went to London on my own, hoping to get some closure, but it…it didn’t help.”

Ruth just watched him, trying to keep her own emotions in check. To her dismay, almost everything she’d guessed had been true. The strong man she knew was reduced to someone who needed alcohol to get through the day, to go to sleep at night. He went on to tell her about London, the mission, and his interrogation, but he kept the most brutal parts to himself. She was already worried and didn’t need anything else to stress over.

“But I do owe that Nazi chump one thing. He let me know you were alive, even if he didn’t realize it.”

“What?” she asked with furrowed brows. “How?”

“I didn’t tell him anything. But as I was leaving, he said something I wrote in my last letter to you. Told me the ‘Yankees always end on top…’ probably to try and rile me up, I guess. I knew that meant you went through there if he knew that.”

Chuckling, Ruth shook her head. “Wow. Who’d’ve thought?”

“Speaking of the Yankees,” John began with a twinkle in his eye. “They won the World Series.”

She playfully groaned and turned away from him with a poorly hidden smirk. “I did not miss hearing crap from you about the Yankees, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, come on, doll. You know you missed it,” he teased as he turned onto his side and pulled her against him wincing slightly as pain shot through his ribs. “Don’t even deny it.”

A loud giggle involuntarily escaped her lips when he wrapped his arms around her again. The sound lifted a weight off of Johnny’s shoulder’s. It was a sound he’d heard night after night, memory after memory, and hearing it after believing he never would again eased his mind in a way he couldn’t describe. Ruth could’ve sworn she heard Frank gag from a nearby bunk, but he made no other complaints.

They stayed like that for a while, both caught up in their thoughts. Ruth thanked God for keeping John safe, for sparing him and bringing him back to her, even if he was bloody and bruised and they were both prisoners of war. Bucky burrowed his face in her neck and breathed her scent, felt the warmth of her skin, the way she fit perfectly in his arms. She was alive. They were together. And in that moment, he promised to do whatever it took to keep her safe.

“I love you,” he whispered after kissing her neck gently. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of saying that.”

“And I’ll never get tired of hearing it. Goodnight, hotshot. I love you.”

With a contented sigh, he closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her presence wash over him. “Goodnight, slugger.”

This time, sleep welcomed the major quickly, and for the first time in over a month, it was peaceful.

Two Days Later: October 29th: 0530 HRS: 5:30 AM

Bang. Bang.

“Aufstehen! Get up!”

The clacking of boots furthered down the hall as the occupants of room 4 slowly awoke. Ruth sat up with a yawn, running a tired hand down her face as John gingerly hopped from the bunk above her and kissed her cheek.

“Mornin, doll.”

“Morning,” she groaned, sliding on her boots and getting bundled up for the morning appell. Ruth layered her sweaters and flight jacket then wrapped her scarf around her neck. She glanced over at Hope on the bunk beside her and noticed the way her friend pulled her own scarf tightly around her neck. Taking a closer look, Ruth also noticed the redness around Hope’s eyes. Everyone knew Hope was struggling, and each time she shut down any conversations about it, Ruth became increasingly worried. In the almost month they’d been at the camp, Hope went from a little closed off to completely isolated…or maybe she just wanted to be away from Ruth? The blonde didn’t know, but she did know that it hurt her heart to see her best friend in such a state.

Everyone quickly got ready and filed out the door for the morning roll call. It was almost always the same every morning and afternoon. The goons went down the line checking everyone was accounted for until they were satisfied. On special occasions when they felt extra cruel, the kreigies were forced to stand in their lines for hours. Luckily, that had only happened once since the girls arrived. As the chilly air turned colder with the passing days, Ruth wondered how long anyone would be able to stand exposed to the elements. It would snow soon, no doubt.

After roll call, everyone headed to the mess hall for breakfast. John threw his arm over Ruth’s shoulder, tucking her into his side. “I could eat a horse right now. I know you’re hungry, and you know I’m always hungry.”

He paused, waiting for her response, but Ruth didn’t hear a word he said. Her attention was too caught on Hope’s lonesome figure behind the group to notice he was speaking. Hope stood still, almost in a trance-like state as she stared at the mud in front of her. Bucky followed Ruth’s line of sight and sighed quietly, an understanding smile on his lips.

“Go on,” he said, squeezing her good shoulder gently.

Finally breaking from her stare, Ruth peered up at him, her brows drawn in concern. “I’ll just be a second.”

“You’re fine, doll.”

He nodded and kissed her temple. Everyone else seemed to notice the few stragglers and stood beside Bucky. Taking a deep breath, Ruth approached her friend, praying this would be the time she’d finally open up. But even as she stood three feet in front of her, Hope didn’t move.

“Hope?”

Hope’s tear-filled eyes snapped up to meet Ruth’s and quickly scanned the group beside John. A sudden redness crept up to her cheeks as Hope realized all the eyes that were on her. Frank appeared next to Ruth and reached out for Hope.

“You okay, Hope?” Frank asked, brushing his hand against hers. But before he could grasp it, she withdrew her hand and turned to avoid the other’s watchful eyes. Hurt flashed on his face for a moment until he reined in his expression, concern painting his face once again.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” she insisted. “I’m just tired. Lots of patients to see today, so I’ll head over to the infirmary.” She pushed past Ruth, moving through the group toward the infirmary. Ruth shared a helpless glance with Frank before following.

“Hope! Hope, wait!” Ruth called after her, clutching onto her friend’s arm when she reached her. “Hey, you have to talk to me. Please don’t shut me out,” the blonde pleaded.

“I’m not shutting you out, Rue. I’m busy, alright? I have things I need to do.”

Ruth’s grip remained firm on her forearm but Hope pushed her arm away. “Just go back to John, why don’t you? He’s waiting for you, so you should just go.”

Ruth felt a sharp pang in her chest at the words. The accusation, the resentment, it cut deep. After all they’d been through, this is how they were treating each other? She had been doing everything she could to be there for her friend, but it seemed like no matter what she did, it wasn’t enough. Ruth’s voice trembled as she responded, trying to keep the hurt from showing too much.

“Please, Hope. Please just talk to me.” Ruth bit her lip to stop it from wobbling as tears slowly filled her eyes.

All Hope did was step further away from the blonde. “I can’t talk to you about it. You won’t understand,” she replied plainly, pushing her dark hair away from her eyes. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks as she took a breath. “I should check on the men in the infirmary.”

Without another word, she continued down the muddy path to the infirmary block. Ruth’s watched her friend’s retreating figure until she disappeared from view. The ache in her chest was almost unbearable.

You wouldn’t understand.

What wouldn’t she understand? They’d been through the worst experience of their life together, ended up as prisoners of war together. What wouldn’t she understand? Ruth didn’t know what she was supposed to do now. She’d tried everything she knew to do.

John stepped beside her and placed a hand on her back. “I’m sorry if I’ve-”

“No, it’s not you,” Ruth interrupted, her voice breaking as she leaned into him. “You haven’t done anything. I-I just don’t know what to do. She refuses to talk to me. It’s like she’s shut me out completely.”

His hand moved to wrap around her waist, his warmth a small comfort in the cold. “Seems like you’ll have to wait for her to come to you, Ruthie.”

“I just wish there was something more I could do,” she nodded, resting her head on his shoulder.

The rest of the day passed the same as the past 35 they’d spent in the dreaded Stalag Luft III. That night, however, Hope never came back to their room. As the hours ticked by and Ruth, along with the other men, arrived from their jobs around the camp, everyone became increasingly worried.

“Has anyone seen her?” Ruth asked frantically, running a hand quickly through her hair. “She’s usually back by now.”

Just as John opened his mouth to speak, the door opened and in walked Frank, soaked to the bone with a barely concealed frown. Glancing out the window, Ruth realized it was pouring.

When had it started raining?

Room 4’s occupants looked at the man expectantly. “Hope? You seen ‘er?” echoed Cruikshank.

Frank nodded slowly and closed the door behind him. “Yeah,” he breathed, “She, uh…She collapsed from exhaustion. Dr. Edmund is looking after her.”

“What?” Ruth blurted as her eyes widened in disbelief. Her whole body was on edge, the news sending shockwaves of panic through her. She could only imagine Hope laying in a scratchy bed surrounded by sick and injured men, forced to stay there for who knows how long.

Collapsed? Exhaustion? Had something happened?

Before anyone could ask Frank further questions, she grabbed her jacket from her bed and pushed toward the door. “I need to see her.”

“Wait, Ruth.” Frank stepped in front of the door, a guilty look in his eyes as he blocked her path. “She doesn’t want visitors.”

Undeterred, she side-stepped him while pulling her jacket over her good arm. She needed to be there, had to be there for Hope. This wasn’t a time to let her handle things herself. “I’m not just a visitor, Frank. It’s me.”

But just as her hand reached the door handle, he put a hand on her shoulder, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. It was almost like the words pained him…like every syllable was a shot straight to the heart. “I know it’s you. She doesn’t want you to see her.”

Ruth froze, turning to stare at Frank as his words sunk in. “She doesn’t want me to see her?” Her voice wavered, and a mix of disbelief and hurt flashed over her face. “Why? Why doesn’t she want to see me?”

“Ruthie-” John started, taking a step toward her, but was interrupted.

She stepped out from under Frank’s hand on her shoulder and threw her arm up in the air. “No,” Ruth said, her voice raising as her frustration boiled over. She’d played this game the past few weeks, and enough was enough. “Why? Why doesn’t she want me there, Frank? Can you please tell me?”

The outburst caught everyone off guard, the sharpness of her tone a stark contrast to her usual demeanor. Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise as he watched the scene before him. His heart ached for her, knowing how much she was hurting, and he felt a pang of helplessness. He always admired her quiet strength, her resilience, but seeing her like this…so vulnerable and desperate…it broke his heart.

Frank looked pained as he tried to explain. “She thinks she’s protecting you. She doesn’t want you to see her like this.”

Ruth’s shoulders slumped as the fight drained from her. “I’m sorry, Frank,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. “Thanks for, uh, telling me.”

All eyes followed her figure as she walked to her bunk and laid down, turning her back to all of them. She didn’t know how much more of it she could take. Things were so much easier when they had each other, and in isolating herself, Hope had accidentally isolated Ruth as well. Without the other, they were the only woman in the camp.

Frank and John exchanged a glance, pure helplessness evident in both their eyes at the situation. They couldn’t make Hope talk to Ruth, and the fact they couldn’t do anything hurt more than any punishment either of the men recieved in captivity.

Sighing heavily, Frank ran a hand through his dripping hair. “I wish there was more we could do,” he murmured.

Johnny nodded, glancing back at Ruth’s figure across the room. “Yeah, me too.” His voice was thick, and the usually talkative Major struggled to find the right words. “It’s tearing her apart, Martin. I’ve-I’ve never seen her like this.”

“Hope’ll come around, eventually. She has to.”

“I hope you’re right,” Bucky replied softly as his eyes remained fixed on the woman he loved. “I really hope you’re right.”

Thursday, November 4th: 1500 HRS: 3 PM

The days passed slowly for everyone in room 4, especially Ruth. While Frank was able to check on Hope in the infirmary, no one else was allowed to visit…this didn’t stop Ruth from trying, however. But to her dismay, she was turned away by Dr. Edmunds before she could even make it through the door.

She attended class as normal and went about her days, but a dark cloud of worry loomed over her mind, consuming her every thought. Even as she wrote on the chalkboard behind her, she wasn’t fully present. If her students could tell something was wrong, they didn’t comment on it. They just copied down the notes in the notebooks the Red Cross sent them in their packages.

“So, Lady Macbeth,” Ruth said as she scribbled the character name on the board,” She is an example of character archetype?”

Her eyes flitted across the room, scanning each of the young men’s faces. Some were searching through their notes to find the answer while others stared at the board in thought. A hand flew up in the front corner of the room, and it brought a smile to Ruth’s face when she saw it was George.

“Go ahead, George,” she gestured to him.

“Is she a femme fatale?”

“Great job. Lady Macbeth is a great example of a femme fatale. Now can someone besides George tell me what a femme fatale is?”

Before anyone could raise their hand, a knock sounded through the classroom. “Come in,” she called.

A few of the men gave her a wary look, unsure of who would be stopping by in the middle of a lesson. Since Ruth started teaching a few weeks prior, they hadn’t had any visitors. She thought it could be John who’d said he might pop in sometime to see her. Who stuck their head around the corner, however, was the last person she’d ever expect.

Hope.

Did she finally want to talk? After all that time?

Ruth glanced at her watch and placed down the chalk.

“I think that’ll be all for today. Make sure to read up to Act 3, scene 2, and we’ll go from there in the next lesson.”

The men packed up quickly and exited the room, sensing the unspoken tension between the women. Ruth leaned against her desk, arms crossed over her chest as she waited expectantly. To say she was surprised to see her friend in her class was an understatement. In all the time she’d been teaching in the camp Hope had never once visited.

Relief and frustration bubbled up inside Ruth. Of course, she was happy to see her friend, but Hope treated her poorly and her words cut deep. She didn’t quite look annoyed but Hope knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t exactly pleased that she hadn’t allowed her to visit the infirmary.

“I’m glad to see you’re up and about again,” Ruth replied plainly, a faint smile on her lips. This was her best friend, but she felt like a stranger now. “You had me worried, Hope…had me worried for a while now. Since the crash, you’ve not been yourself, and I understand that but…” she cut herself off, pushing herself away from her desk and moving to a table a few feet away from Hope.

Hope kept her eyes trained on the floor, unable to meet Ruth’s, embarrassment clear on her reddening cheeks as the tears building in her eyes threatened to fall.

“I’m sorry, Rue…” she mumbled softly.

Ruth sighed, moving closer and standing before her. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I know things haven’t been easy for you, but things haven’t been easy for me, either. We need each other, and you pushed me away…pushed us all away.”

Tears welled in Ruth’s eyes, too, and Hope felt a choked sob slipping from her lips, “I failed you, Ruth. I just keep failing and disappointing you.”

Sympathy easily overpowered Ruth’s frustration, and she tugged Hope into an embrace. Hope’s head fell against the blonde's shoulder and she felt Ruth’s arms encasing her as she cried. It was the most relief she’d felt in months: to truly cry…to release all the emotions that had been bottled up for the past month.

“I’m so sorry, Ruth.”

The two women remained still, each clinging to the other as they cried over the events of the last few months. Neither of them had truly faced what had become of them but it was good to finally share in their grief. To face reality together.

Ruth pulled back, rubbing away the stray tears that streaked down her pale cheeks. “Hope please tell me what happened. Frank said you collapsed from exhaustion and didn’t want anyone to visit. I tried to anyways but Dr. Edmund said you weren’t up for visitors.”

She wanted answers…needed answers as to why Hope quite literally shut her out.

Hope bit her lip, seemingly caught in a battle within herself. A few moments passed until she shakily spoke. “Well, I’ve not been sleeping too well for a while now but I’d finally finished the letter to Gale that Edmund promised to pass onto him,” she began, inhaling sharply between each sentence. “I went to the infirmary earlier, I couldn’t sleep and I wanted Edmund to have it as soon as possible. I went to the infirmary to drop it off and there was this man there…”

Hope gulped.

“He was a patient and was as good as dead, but…”

Ruth couldn’t help the emotion that clawed at her throat as Hope spoke. Her friend’s voice sounded so broken and painful as she relived the events that Ruth didn’t know what to say. What could she say?

“He grabbed me and he tried too… Well, he didn’t manage it. Edmund said it was all the shock of that and the sleep deprivation that my body finally just gave up. He put me on bed rest. Frank only found out because I was unconscious when he arrived and Edmund let him in.”

Hope let out a long sigh, reaching to take Ruth’s shaking hands in her own, “I didn’t want you to see me so broken, Rue. I’ve always promised that I’d look after you but all I do is keep failing and letting you down.”

Ruth shook her head, fighting to keep her lip from trembling, “You haven’t failed me, alright? You’re the strongest, most talented, hardest working person I know, and you’re the most incredible nurse. I wouldn’t be here without you. Thank you for taking care of me, but it’s my turn to take care of you. You just have to let me.”

A painful wail slipped from Hope as she sobbed once more, surrendering to her own grief. How had she been so blind to the pain she’d caused her friend?

“I love you, Rue, I love you so much and I can’t lose you.”

Ruth’s hand smoothed down Hope’s back, “I love you too, Hope. And don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

Tag List: @xxluckystrike @precious-little-scoundrel @bcofl0ve @violetdaze25 @docroesmorphine -> will tag rest in comments!

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major-mads · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 12: A New Normal

John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: interrogation time boissss!!!

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 6k

October 13, 1943: Dulag Luft: Frankfurt, Germany:

As John Egan slouched into the leather chair in his interrogator’s office, everything ached. His eyes, his head, his ribs, his back…everything. On top of all this, the Lieutenant before him was offering him a drink like he was an old friend, not a prisoner of war who’d already faced unimaginable horrors in the last few days alone.

Not a man who lost everything he had to live for.

John raised his glass, unflinching as his sore muscles cried in protest. “Here’s, uh, mud in your eye.”

The fact that Haussmann didn’t know the phrase brought him a sense of satisfaction. The most he could have in his situation.

“So, where shall we begin?”

Putting down his glass, Bucky’s eyes stared at the cup as he spoke bitterly. “How about I was in a town and someone shot four of the guys with me.”

“Oh my...What town?” he asked quickly, almost too quickly.

‘It’s all a tactic. Every single word,’ John reminded himself. ‘Don’t give him anything.’

“‘Russheim, something. I don’t know-”

Haussmann cut him off, a false look of concern painting his face. “Rüsselsheim. That’s tragic. I will add it to the report.”

‘All lies.’

“Your colleagues,” he continued, grabbing a pen and paper. “The ones who were killed, if you could give me their names and rank, I can pass it on to-”

It was John’s turn to interrupt, the flashes of the men’s lifeless bodies making his chest burn in anger. “I don’t know their names. We just happened to be put together. Look, I appreciate the drink and would really appreciate a thicker blanket, but as far as what you’re gonna get from me, it’s gonna be name, rank, and serial-”

“And serial number. Yours is O-399510…Yes, I already know that,” the interrogator grinned in a way that made the Major’s skin crawl.

“I also know that you were born in Manitowoc, Wisconsin. Married?”

John’s gaze fell back to his drink, Ruth’s smiling face appearing in his mind, her infectious laugh ringing in his ears.

‘In a perfect world, we would be.’

An unsettling grin reappeared on the Nazi’s face as he flipped through John’s folder. “From what I hear, there’s not a wife, but there is a woman. A recent development, hmm? What is her name?”

For the first time since the Major sat down across from the Lieutenant, his words got a response. Bucky’s eyes snapped to meet his, anger flaming in them for a moment before he concealed his emotions once again. He bit his tongue to keep from opening his mouth. This man had no right to even utter her name after she was ripped from him by this scum’s people.

“Ah, yes, I found it. Ruth Morgan. Nurse, or should I say, former nurse, with the…,” he checked the file. “806th Medical Air Evacuation and Transport Squadron.”

Former Nurse…With those two words, the emotions he’d tried to get control of the past few weeks threatened to consume him, and his heart sank to the depths of his gut.

‘It’s a tactic. He’s trying to break you down,’ John repeated. ‘Don’t listen to him.’

John shifted in his seat with barely furrowed brows and a clenched jaw, reminding himself to breathe as the pressure in his chest mounted at the fact that this man knew so much about Ruth.

Did Hope or Frank somehow survive?

Did they go through here?

Is she alive?

These questions ran rampant in his mind in the small office, the sickening portrait of Adolph Hitler looming over him.

“Squadron, 418th. Group, the 100th Bomber Group. H for heavy, headquartered at Thorpe Abbotts.”

Refusing to give a single ounce of information, Bucky stared at him blankly as the Lieutenant closed the file, a despicable smirk still plastered on his face.

“Are you a baseball fan, Major?”

No response.

“Certainly that’s not a national secret,” he suggested, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from a desk drawer and offering one to John, who stared at it for a moment before taking one silently.

Haussmann stood and lit his cigarette. “Sorry, they are not as good as your American brands. Lucky Strike is my personal preference.”

Bucky took a drag of the cigarette and let out a sigh, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t even know if he could roll his eyes with the constant pain that surged through his right eye. Double vision had been plaguing him since he first got knocked in the face that night in the town…Rüsselsheim, as he now knew, and only worsened after his head took a few blows.

“Baseball is still a bit of a mystery to me with all the sticks and bases, running in circles. There was the big championship last week, wasn’t there?”

Tapping his cigarette ashes into the small tray on the desk, John finally broke his silence. “Yeah, World Series.”

“Ah yes, the World Series. The New York Yankees versus the St. Louis Cardinals. A rematch, yes?”

“We were up two games to one when I went down,” the Major nodded slightly.

John thought Ruth would’ve gotten a kick out of Hugh’s behavior toward him after the Cardinals beat the Yankees in game two of the series. He could see her teasing grin and hear her lighthearted giggle that never failed to make his heart jump. Her memory touched every part of his mind, and it was impossible to go through a day, an hour, a minute without thinking of her.

“So you are a Yankees fan. Would you like to know the outcome of the World Series?”

‘I’d much rather get outta here,’ Johnny thought, but he stayed quiet, staring at the desk.

“Was Buck Cleven a Yankees fan?”

His gaze lifted to meet the icy eyes of the Luftwaffe Lieutenant, and he had to take a steadying breath to fight against the rage coursing through him.

“No? Yes?” he smirked. “I know Ruth Morgan was not.”

The mounting pressure in Bucky’s chest became too much, threatening to explode if he didn’t release it. “And how do you know that?” he all but growled at the man.

One side of Haussman’s mouth curled into another cruel grin and he ignored John’s question, leaning over the desk to grab a newspaper, revealing a New York Times paper from the Bremen raid. “I hear Cleven was quite the flyer. I read of his exploits in the Regensburg attack.”

Everything he did was choreographed…no word or action was wasted.

“He was your friend wasn’t he? It seems we are shooting down all the good pilots…and apparently nurses, as well.”

“I wouldn’t be bragging about killing medics,” John scoffed roughly, his nostrils flaring as his voice hardened. “Pretty sure that’s a war crime.”

“You and I both know C-47s are not marked with a red cross, Major Egan.”

Silence.

“Did you know that on your Münster attack, only one of your planes returned?” Haussman held up a finger. “One.”

Although he didn’t show it, Bucky’s mind was in shambles. ‘He’s got to be lying,’ he thought. ‘There’s no way only one plane survived…but has he said anything untrue this whole time? Has he lied at all?’

“But back to you, Major Egan,” he began, inspecting his file once more. “I regret to inform you that you are, as you say, in a bit of a pickle. We know you were originally apprehended near Ostbevern…but we don’t have you on any record as a crew member on any planes from the Münster attack.”

Lies.

“The Gestapo would say that makes you a spy.”

Johnny’s eyes rose to meet the man’s gaze as he spoke up, keeping his voice even amid the rage bubbling within him. “They would be mistaken.”

“One thing I can tell you, Major, the Gestapo is never mistaken.”

Haussmann’s bright blue eyes bored into John’s softer, greyish irises as he stared at him before taking a deep breath. “So I need verification of your group, your squadron, and your plane so that I can confirm to them that you are indeed what you say you are.”

‘What else can they take from me?’

Bucky took a drag of his cigarette, his gaze falling back to the desk as he spoke, the smoke filling the air around him. “John Egan,” he raised his brows before tapping his ashes again. “Major. O-399510.”

“Major,” the Nazi said quietly, almost sympathetically. “May I say that you’re not doing yourself any favors? The Gestapo, they are different than me. Me, I’m like you: a flier…a man of honor. And I can understand things in a way that perhaps my colleagues from the highly indoctrinated security forces might not…I’d like to talk about Buck Cleven and Ruth Morgan, John.“

The anger within the Major simmered away, leaving only sadness in its wake…all-encompassing grief that he’d been pushing down for almost a month, reverting to his old drinking habits to numb the pain.

“But I’d like you to talk to me as well,” Haussman continued. “The number of replacement B-17s expected at Thorpe Abbotts next week, for example.”

And Bucky’s gaze drifted back up to his interrogator, he didn’t even blink. Despite his inner turmoil, he refused to let this man get anything from him. “John Egan. Major. O-399510.”

“I see,” he nodded, raising his voice to the men outside. “Wachen. Wir sind am Ende.”

A few seconds later, two guards appeared and hauled John to his feet. He withheld a groan as his bruised body was jostled toward the threshold. Just before he passed into the dark hallway, the Lieutenant called out to him one last time.

“Oh, Major Egan, about the World Series,” the Nazi began, his lips twisting into a cruel smirk. “The Yankees always end on top.”

The Yankees always end on top…

John’s eyes widened, and he felt as though the air had been knocked from his lungs as the familiar words hung in the air. His own hand had written them in his final letter to Ruth just days before she went down. His mind reeled as he was thrown into his cold, dark, and flea-infested cell.

Sitting on the small stool at the foot of his wooden cot, hope surged within him. If they’d read the letter, it meant she’d been here…

“She’s alive,” Bucky whispered, a shaky grin tugging at his lips as tears burned his eyes. “Ruth’s alive.”

October 14th, 1943: Stalag Luft III: 04:00: 4 AM

Two weeks had passed since Hope, Ruth, and Frank arrived at Stalag Luft III. To Hope, those two weeks in that hell hole felt like two years, and sleep didn’t come easy for her. She spent the first few nights on high alert, her eyes watching every movement outside the hut. She was convinced they’d be moved again, and after losing her friends in Dulag Luft, she wasn’t going to let the same thing happen again. Ruth tried to reassure her that they weren’t going to be split up again, but even she was unsure of what was planned for them. She tried to stay up with hope for several nights, but sleep eventually overtook her each time and she slipped into a dreamless slumber.

After several nights without sleep, Hope grew irritated, snapping at any minor inconvenience, but she’d been forced to bite her tongue when the guards barked orders during their morning and night appells. The stern glare Frank sent her told her now was not the time to put up a fight.

She hadn’t meant to be so short-tempered but as she’d watched Ruth and Frank sleep, she’d resented them for resting easy. Her mind spun twenty-four hours of the day, constantly on alert, continually in overdrive. Frank had joined Ruth in staying up with Hope, taking it in shifts to try and distract her from her constant worry.

“Do you know what happened to her in Dulag Luft?” Ruth whispered to Frank one night while Hope paced up and down the hallway.

Frank shook his head with a yawn, “She won’t tell me what happened. When I found her, Ruth, I…” Frank shook his head, “Well, she wasn’t the same Hope I used to know.”

After Hope rejoined them, her pacing finally ceased and she sunk onto her cot, her eyes finally growing heavy. The guard's patrols seemed less frequent that night, and Ruth watched as Hope’s eyes gradually slipped closed, her body slouched against the end of their cot. Leaning against the wooden beam wasn’t the most comfortable position, but Ruth and Frank were just thankful she’d finally fallen asleep. Once her breaths evened out and she was sleeping soundly, the pair slipped into their beds. Frank fell asleep the second his head hit his straw pillows, but Ruth lay awake, staring at the wooden slats of the bunk above her.

It was no secret that Ruth Morgan was a worrier, but Hope? She was the strong one who was always there when Ruth needed her to be. But seeing her best friend so debilitated by her fears and anxieties scared her to death. It had only been two weeks and the camp was already taking a serious toll on the Americans.

With a quiet sigh, Ruth closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind, willing herself to drift off to sleep. But just as she felt herself succumb to sleep’s embrace, a sudden noise jolted her awake and she sat up in bed. It took her a moment to realize that the noise was coming from Hope’s bunk.

Ruth’s heart ached as she watched Hope toss and turn in her sleep, her brow furrowed in distress. Her chest heaved beneath the thin blankets, and her movements grew more frantic with each passing moment.

“Hope?” Ruth whispered, reaching a tentative hand through the gap between their beds to shake her foot. When she whimpered in response, Ruth’s concern deepened, and she moved from her bed to crouch in front of Hope. “Hey, wake up,” she said a little louder, rubbing her shoulder.

No response.

Ruth shook her friend’s shoulder roughly, her worry-stricken voice filling the room. “Hope!”

Hope’s eyes opened suddenly and she lurched forward off the end of her bunk, nearly knocking herself out on the bunk above her.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

Hope stared back at her, her dark eyes wide and full of tears as sweat trickled down her forehead, her chest heaving against her overalls. It took her a moment to realize what was going on as Frank’s worried face appeared beside the blonde’s. Ruth reached forward, trying to brush away the hair that had fallen across Hope’s forehead, but Hope caught her wrist, squeezing it painfully.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, pushing herself quickly off the cot and marching towards the door of the hut, not once looking back at her friends.

Ruth’s heart sank as Hope’s words stung like a slap across her face. She watched helplessly as her friend retreated to the door. For a moment, she was frozen in shock, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.

“Hope, wait,” she called out.

But Hope didn’t stop. She disappeared through the doorway without a backward glance, leaving Ruth and Frank standing in stunned silence.

Frank glanced at Ruth, his brow furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”

Ruth blinked back tears, her throat tight. She shook her head slowly, unable to find the words to express how she felt as Frank pulled her into a hug. “She didn’t mean it.”

Despite his reassuring words, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was changing between them. She had always leaned on Hope for support, finding solace in her unwavering presence, but when she tried to extend the same comfort, she was met with rejection. Their friendship was built on openness and their ability to share everything, and now that foundation was cracking beneath the pressure of life in the camp.

Stepping back, Frank cleared his throat and grabbed his jacket from the table. “I’ve gotta go after her. Stay here.”

Ruth nodded, her gaze fixed on the door through which Hope had disappeared moments before. A knot of worry tightened in her stomach as she watched Frank leave, his footsteps echoing faintly down the hallway in the quiet of the night. Alone in the dark room, she sank back onto her bunk.

How had things changed so quickly? Just days before they had been a united front, promising to get through their time in the camp together. But now, it felt like there was a growing chasm between them, widening with each passing moment.

She ran a hand through her hair, hurt, worry, and frustration simmering within her. She longed for the comfort of her friend’s presence, for the reassurance that everything would be alright. In that moment on her bed, Ruth decided she could no longer rely on others to do that for her, to reassure her, to get her through her anxiety. If Hope crumbled and their roles were reversed, would she be able to step up into that role? She didn’t know. But she did know that she’d do everything in her power to get her friend back.

Ruth sighed heavily and lay on her back, trying to find some semblance of peace amidst the chaos of her thoughts. She turned toward the wall, her eyes finding a small photograph propped up on the small shelf against the wall of her bunk. Oh, how she longed to go back to when things were so much simpler, to when she and Hope were happy, to when she could smile and laugh with the man she loved, to when she still had her freedom.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she whispered the words she longed to say to him even though he couldn’t hear her. “I love you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper in the silence of the room.

Frank walked back into the room with a sigh, tossing his jacket back onto the table. “I can’t see anything, soI’ll go back out in a little bit. I don’t think she wants to be found right now, anyways.”

“Did I do something wrong?” she inquired quietly, turning to face him.

He ran a tired hand down his face and scratched his growing stubble. “No. I-I just don’t know what to do. I’ll wait up for her, alright? You go to sleep.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Now go on. I know you’re exhausted.”

Bidding him goodnight with a quiet murmur, Ruth reached out and picked up her photograph, holding it closer to her chest as she gazed at the image of her and John. Their smiles were frozen in time and the sweet memory was immortalized forever. Despite her worry for her friend, Ruth finally succumbed to exhaustion, her grip on the photo never faltering as she drifted off to sleep.

Five AM came in the blink of an eye, and Ruth begrudgingly sat up, wrapping her blanket around her body when the morning chill bit at her skin. She looked over at Hope’s bunk, expecting her to be staring up at the underside of Frank’s bunk like her nightmare never happened, but all she saw was crumpled sheets. Frank was always the first awake, sitting at the table with a cup of lukewarm ersatz coffee he got from the kriegie kitchen next door to their block. Ruth stood and found Frank’s empty bunk looked the same as Hope’s.

Bright sunlight filtered through the room’s one window, lighting up the space. Frank was surely out searching for Hope, and Ruth doubted that he got even a wink of sleep waiting up for her. With a sigh, she got herself ready and sat out on the steps of her block, watching as the camp came alive with prisoners, each starving for their breakfast. The warm days had turned into cooler ones as September faded into October and Summer faded to Fall. Soon, she feared, winter would be upon them and they would have no way to stay warm. They heard from the compound old-timers of the harsh German winters, and they sounded anything but pleasant, especially as a prisoner of war.

A man walked by her with a cup of coffee and her stomach rumbled as hunger pains shot through her abdomen. Although it had only been three weeks since they began eating less-than-nutritious meals, Ruth noticed her already large clothes nearly falling off her slimming frame. They all tried to eat anytime they could, but it still wasn’t enough, even with the Red Cross packages the received once a week. In truth, the packages were the only thing really keeping the kriegies from starving.

As she scanned the compound for any sign of her friends, Ruth’s eyes caught on two familiar figures and she let out a relieved breath. She stood to her feet and did her best to put on a smile as they approached. Hope sent her one in return, but it didn’t reach her eyes…none of her smiles did anymore. Linking her hand through Ruth’s, she squeezed it gently. Ruth was somewhat pleased to see even the faintest smile on Hope’s face, even if it was forced. She’d been so withdrawn since their arrival to the Stalag that Ruth worried she was slowly slipping away before her eyes.

The trio made their way over to the kitchen window, each collecting their modest breakfast of black bread, which according to a few of the old timers, was filled with sawdust.

“I miss the breakfast back at base,” Frank groaned as he chewed through the tough, brown slice. He was thankful he had always had good teeth, otherwise he risked losing a few just at breakfast.

The girls nodded in agreement, their mouths watering at the thought of powdered eggs, toast, maybe even some bacon and hot coffee that didn’t taste like total crap. Ruth still kept a vivid memory of the man by the gate when they arrived who was just skin and bone. Hope had seen a man similar in the infirmary where she was helping out and told Ruth that the man was still in good spirits, but that didn’t help the fear that grew inside her chest.

Would she end up just like him?

Hope was thankful for a job in the infirmary working alongside a few of the camp's doctors. She’d been given a sense of purpose which had been taken from her, and despite the lack of sleep and the ache in her chest, she managed to pull herself out of bed each day for that purpose. Ruth was happy for her. Hope was born to be a nurse, it was her calling and seeing her helping people again gave them all a little hope. The back and forth between Hope’s moods worried her friends more than anything.

Ruth found her own purpose in the camp by teaching some of her fellow POWs how to read. Many of them were just boys when the depression hit and were forced to drop out of school to work the fields to keep their families afloat. So every morning after breakfast and their morning appell, Frank walked her to the Kriegie school, nicknamed Kriegie University, and she taught a few classes throughout the day. One was a basic reading class, and the others were literature studies like the ones she taught back home. If there was one thing Stalag Luft III had an overabundance of, it was books. The south compound’s extensive library was a popular spot, and it gave Ruth the perfect material to use in her classroom.

Frank took up working in one of the camp’s relied-on gardens. The girls had encouraged him to take up a study he might have been interested in, but he seemed happy in the garden.

“You girls know I’m better with my hands, that’s why I fly the plane,” he’d told them.

He’d supplemented his time between the garden and playing baseball which seemed to bring back some of the old Frank. Watching him play reminded the girls of the fun-loving young man he was. The war had aged them all and they sometimes forgot that Frank wasn’t really that much older than them.

After breakfast and the 6 am appell, they went their separate ways, Hope strutting toward the infirmary and Frank dropping off Ruth at the school on the way to the garden. Her classroom wasn’t big by any means and was just bigger than their room, but it sent her back to the days before the war, before she joined the nurse corps…when she poured into young minds day after day.

Her first class of the day was British Literature and around ten men slowly filtered through the door and sat at the three tables spread throughout the room. The men in this class, unlike her basic reading ones, were college students when the war broke out. Some were drafted while others put their studies on hold and volunteered. The youngest was 19 and the oldest was 21. Remembering her years in college, Ruth’s heart ached for the boys and their sacrifice of a normal life to defend their country.

All of them had their notebooks given by the Red Cross open and ready to go when Ruth handed out the day’s text, each one greeting her with a half-smile and good morning.

“Good morning, everyone,” she announced, holding up the book she handed out. “Have any of you read Beowulf before?”

“Don’t forget to read pages 186 through 215 before next class!”

Once the last of Ruth’s students trickled out the door, she sat down at her small desk and graded their latest assignment. Reading paper after paper, marking correct or incorrect, circling a letter at the top of the page, time sped by. Even back home, the process of grading papers, despite how pesky and time consuming it was, always gave Ruth time to think. Sitting in her small classroom, she thought of her family, her parents, how worried they must be. It was the first thing she’d do once they were allowed to send mail again, write a letter telling her parents she was alive. Home. It was also a topic she thought of often.

Her mind then shifted to John as it often did at random moments. Ruth wondered what he was doing. Was he fully in his element, soaring through the sky in his fort, leading his men through no matter what? Sitting in their corner of the Dickleburgh pub nursing a glass of whiskey? Singing his heart out in the Officer’s Club? Whatever he was doing, she hoped he thought of her like she did of him. The devil on her shoulder whispered that he didn’t, that he’d forgotten about her the second she went down. But the angel on the other reminded her of all the times they shared, all the memories full of love and promises for the future. He wouldn’t forget about her…she wouldn’t let him. His would be the second letter she’d send.

Hope. The nightmares, the closed-off attitude, all of it. The woman she knew and loved, her best friend, was morphing into someone she didn’t recognize. What could she do if Hope wouldn’t let her in? How could anyone help if someone doesn’t let them? Soon, her brain became a jumbled mess of memories, Beowulf, worries, and everything else.

The smell of honeysuckles in early spring, Grendel, John smiling at her atop the Muggs, A+, family dinners at the local diner, 10/12: B-, Hope’s terrified eyes from that morning.

The hours passed in a flash, and before she knew it, Ruth stared at the bare wood of her desk, the full stack of graded papers to her right. She blinked away her thoughts and glanced at her watch, cursing under her breath as 11:55 am stared back at her.

She was almost late to meet Frank and Hope for lunch! Ruth quickly gathered her things and left the school, treading through the ever-present mud toward the mess hut. Her eyes scanned the men around her as she walked. She caught sight of one of the guards, his bright blonde hair sticking out from the sides of his cap while he stared at her, never pulling his eyes from her figure. Ruth pretended she didn’t see him. The less attention she showed, the better. Over their two weeks in the camp, the guards hadn’t messed with them at all, but they stared…they loved to stare.

“I was about to come looking for ya!”

Frank leaned against the mess hut with a cigarette between his fingers, blowing out a puff of smoke. The unease from the guard slowly faded away at the sight of his comforting form. He wouldn’t let anything happen to them if he was near…they both knew that.

“I had a bunch of papers to grade,” she sighed, mirroring his stance against the building and readjusting her sling. “Time…it, uh, got away from me.”

He raised a brow skeptically, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Are you sure that’s it?”

“No,” Ruth whispered brokenly.

“What is it?”

“Everything, but Hope…Frank, I-I’m worried about her.”

“Something must’ve happened at Dulag Luft when we were separated. She’s been different since then. Not that we’ll ever be the same, but-”

“I know,” she interrupted. “We need to find out. If she won’t talk to me, maybe she’ll talk to you. We have to try.”

Frank ran a tired hand down his face, his eyes filled with worry. “I’ll try.”

“I don’t know what else to-”

Spotting Hope over Ruth’s shoulder, he cleared his throat and nodded her way, the pair going silent as the woman approached.

“Everything alright?” Hope asked, falling into step beside Ruth who gave her a reassuring nod.

“Yes, I was just telling Frank about my morning, I’ve been so busy with classes that I almost missed lunch.”

Hope was pleased to see the way Ruth’s eyes lit up as she spoke about her teaching. She would have loved to have known her before the war, before they each had a part of themselves ripped away, but seeing her now reminded Hope that they might be able to find their old selves again one day.

Lunch consisted of thin, runny potato soup with a few vegetables from the camp garden. Frank beamed as he pointed out his effort in helping prepare the vegetables for their meal.

“Who knew Frank was so green fingered,” Ruth chuckled, slurping the soup from her spoon.

“Well they way he used to hug those hedges back in Norfolk,” Hope jested, “It’s a wonder ‘The Angel’ never ended up in one.”

Frank rolled his eyes dramatically at the girls' antics, pleased to see they could still laugh about something. He wasn’t sure how they kept him smiling but they always managed it. He worried of course, between Hope closing herself off from them and Ruth’s endless worry he wondered how they smiled at all. There were moments when it felt like they were back in Berkshire sitting around the mess hall telling stories from their childhoods.

“Well, I always said you should have got your pilot wings, Hope. I wouldn’t have minded you as a co-pilot.”

Hope gave him a faint smile. Thinking of perusing a different career seemed so far away from where they were.

“She’d have given you a run for your money, Frank,” Ruth giggled again, finishing up her soup. She glanced over at Hope who just sent her a small smile again. There were moments when she saw the old Hope again rather than the closed-off shell of the woman she had become. She wasn’t sure what to do, but she could only tiptoe around on eggshells for so long before someone cracked.

“I should be getting back to my classroom,” Ruth declared, pushing back her rickety, wooden chair and stepping back. “I’ll see you both later.”

“Be careful, Ruth. Do you want me to walk with you?” Frank asked, half pushing his chair back but she waved him away.

“It’s not far, Frank. I’ll be fine,” she smiled at Frank but nudged her head towards Hope, trying to prompt Frank to follow through on their earlier conversation.

Frank nodded.

“Bye Rue,” Hope’s quiet voice could barely be heard above the noises around them but Ruth did. She sent her friend a small smile. It felt like that’s all they did now…smile at each other.

Ruth hoped, prayed Frank would get through to her, that she’d finally open up. That she’d get her friend back. Taking a deep breath, she pushed down her fears and prepared herself for her next class: reading basics.

October 22, 1943: Stalag Luft III: 15:00 HRS: 3 PM

Ruth walked around her classroom, her boots thudding against the bare wood floors as she glanced at the test on her student’s desks. They were required to read a passage and answer a few comprehension questions afterward, but some of them were struggling. These were the boys who had little to no education, who were never taught to read or write more than basic words. Part of the 10% of draftees the government alloted could be illiterate.

Noah Alden stared at the sheet of paper, his squinted eyes focusing on the passage, letter after letter, word after word, sentence after sentence, but his mind couldn’t wrap around its meaning. With a defeated sigh, he dropped his pencil and lowered his face into his hands. A few classmates sent him sympathetic looks, but they soon went back to their own tests. Ruth crouched beside him, his eyes raising to hers.

“Whatcha stuck on?” she asked quietly.

“I’m okay.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He stared at her for a long moment, seemingly contemplating whether to tell the truth or not. He decided to be truthful “I just can’t get it.”

“The reading part? Or the questions?”

“The reading part. See this here,” Noah started, pointing to the third sentence in the paragraph. “What does this mean?”

Before Ruth could respond, the shrill sound of a siren filled the air and the men all looked at each other excitedly, their eyes widening in anticipation. Even Noah’s downtrodden expression lifted, revealing a crooked smile on his lips.

New arrivals.

She stood to her feet. “Go on,” she grins, shooing them away with her hands. “We can finish this Monday.”

Within seconds, the six thanked her and were out the door, hooting and hollering like high school boys as they ran to the gate, hoping to glimpse a familiar face. Ruth collected the papers and deposited them inside her desk. For the first time since 1942, Ruth Morgan did what she was called to do: teach.

After going back to her room, grading some assignments, and catching up on some reading, she checked her watch. 5:30 pm. Hope and Frank were usually back by then, so she decided to search for them. Ruth checked the garden and the infirmary with no luck, but she felt as if the earth fell beneath her feet when she saw a group approaching from the gate. At the front of the group was Frank, who held a unmoving Hope in his arms.

“Frank!”

Ruth’s mind went haywire at the sight and she ran to meet them. Was she dead? What happened? As she neared them, the other men’s faces came into focus. They were instantly recognizable as men from the 100th, but her main focus was her friend.

“What happened? Is she alright?” Ruth sputtered, coming to a stop before him and hesitantly raising a hand to Hope’s emotionless face. Dried tear tracks streaking down her cheeks were visible from where she leaned into Frank’s embrace.

Frank just sighed, his tired eyes falling to Hope’s figure. “Cleven’s here.”

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major-mads · 1 year ago

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Interlude Part 2: Ghost of You

John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: i've been planning this for the longest time and i'm excited to finally get to post it! let me know what you think! <3

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 1.3k

October 8th, 1943: London, England: 0200 HRS

The soft glow of moonlight spilled through the open curtains, illuminating John’s hotel room as he stirred from his sleep, his senses gradually awakening to the world around him. He blinked away any remnants of sleep and glanced around the room, his heart skipping a beat in his chest as his gaze fell upon a mess of blonde curls in the bed beside him. A tender smile graced his lips as he reached to run his fingers through the tousled and wild curls, the strands soft beneath his touch. She slept peacefully, her lips parted ever so slightly as she breathed quietly.

John rolled over to his side to face her, leaning forward and kissing her forehead. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath against her temple.

In her sleep-induced haze, she mumbled something he couldn’t quite understand, her lips smacking quietly as she fell back asleep. John couldn’t help but chuckle softly at her response, his heart swelling with affection as he continued to stare down at her.

She seemingly felt his loving stare and stirred awake, her eyes fluttering open with sleep still clearly evident in her features. With a lazy but playful glint in her eye, she teased, “Enjoying the view, Major?”

John grinned, his gaze lingering on her. “Always, doll. You’re beautiful…you know that?”

“Oh please,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes. “You’re so full of it.”

Despite her playful protest, she shifted closer to Bucky, settling comfortably against his warm, bare chest, her blue pajama shirt hanging loosely off her shoulder. The blonde’s hands folded beneath her chin as she looked up at him, ocean blue meeting blue-gray in the dim light,

She took a deep breath, lifting a hand to caress his jaw gently. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Ruthie,” John whispered into the quiet of the night as he wrapped his arms around her.

As they lay there in the gentle embrace of each other’s arms, time seemed to stand still. John’s fingers traced invisible patterns along her back, his delicate touch sending goosebumps across her body. With a contented sigh, her eyes drifted closed and she curled into his side, her cheek still pressed against the warmth of his chest.

John savored the moment, relishing in the feeling of Ruth’s soft breaths against his skin and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she fell asleep once again.

“Night, doll,” he whispered, closing his eyes as sleep beckoned him. “See you in the morning.”

The loud honk of a car horn on the street pierced the quietness of the hotel room, the noise waking the Major and sending a sharp pain through his head. Clenching his eyes tightly, John rubbed his chest and groaned at the morning light filtering through a crack in the blackout curtains. Even inside, the cool October air sent a chill through him in spite of the thick blankets covering his body. Johnny rolled onto his back, a small smile forming on his face as he reached for Ruth’s familiar warmth beside him.

But his hand found nothing but cold sheets.

His eyes snapped open, searching the empty space beside him. Confusion clouded his mind as he sat up, scanning the room for any sign of her presence. His gaze fell upon the empty bottles of whiskey littering the nightstand, and memories of the previous night flooded back.

The loneliness, the regret, the longing for Ruth’s presence… he’d wanted it to go away. The bottle achieved it for a short time, and that’s all he wanted: to fall into the numbness that the alcohol offered. Here, no one relied on him as their commander, their fellow airmen, or even as their friend. Here, he could drown his sorrows and not face consequences befitting a Major.

It was then that reality hit him like a ton of bricks. The warmth of her body pressed against his, the sound of her voice as she told him she loved him…it had all been a dream.

She wasn’t there. She never had been.

With a heavy sigh, John sank back onto the bed, reaching to grasp the cross hanging from his neck. She should’ve been there beside him. She should’ve known he loved her. She should’ve lived past 24.

John had no recollection of how long he lay there, his mind consumed with memories, regrets, and the broken dreams that accompanied the thought of Ruth Morgan. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall and pursed his lips.

12 pm

He knew he needed to get up.

Throwing back the sheets with another sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood to his feet, tipping back the leftover swig of whiskey in his glass from the night before.

Buck’s words rang through his mind. “Go do what you had planned for the two of you. It might help you get some closure.”

And that’s how John found himself walking down the bustling streets of London in the general location of Charles Dickens’ house. Although it was the last thing he wanted to do, he decided to give Buck’s advice a try for once. Maybe it would help give him some closure.

If it didn’t…would it help him feel closer to her? To go somewhere she would’ve loved?

John didn’t know, but he was going nonetheless.

A little way up the street, people stood crowded on the sidewalk, unable to tear their eyes from the damage of the Luftwaffe’s midnight bombardment. From the crowd emerged a woman in a dark pink hat carrying a few letters.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he asked as she dropped the letters into a postbox. “Do you know where I can find the Dickens Museum?”

She nodded curtly, pointing further down the street. “Take a right here, then go down three blocks and take a left.”

“And a paper?”

“Just there. Around the corner.”

As the words left her lips, a bloodcurdling shriek filled the air, and all eyes shot to the bombed-out house…or what was left of it. Taking a deep breath, John thanked her quietly and continued down the street, his heart breaking at the mother’s cries as her daughter’s lifeless body was pulled from the wreckage.

“Just let me see! Is she dead? Please! Tell me!!”

Emotion crept up his throat while he was unable to break his stare of the scene. The pain of losing Ruth was excruciating, but losing a child? John couldn’t even imagine that type of anguish.

The war didn’t care if you were a child, a mother, or a brother…it just took and took until nothing remained.

But war wasn’t to blame for this. This was the Luftwaffe…the ones he sought to destroy, to eliminate. They’d keep fighting for the people they lost, for the people they’d all lost.

He clenched his jaw and made his way around the corner, passing London’s iconic red telephone booths to reach the newsstand. A hint of satisfaction and a small smirk tugged on his lips when he read the headline in front of the stand:

EIGHTH AIR FORCE SMASHES BREMEN

John could see it: the look of determination as Buck fought to get to the IP, to drop their bomb load on the people who took his fiancée away from him. Bucky just wished he’d been in on the action…he would’ve been if Buck hadn’t ratted him out to Harding, who then forced him to take the weekend pass.

As he fished his pockets for some change, he couldn’t wait to hear about the mission when he returned to Thorpe Abbotts…couldn’t wait to hear of the stories that accompanied every mission. But when he bought his paper and scanned the front page, his excitement turned into dread.

30 BOMBERS LOST

John tucked the paper under his arm and rushed toward the telephone booth.

Buck was fine. He had to be…right?

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major-mads · 1 year ago

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#mota #john egan #motaedit #masters of the air #gale cleven

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major-mads · 1 year ago

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Friend I have FINALLY caught up with A Pair Of Silver Wings and WHOOOWEEE! It’s doing a number on my emotions but I love it so much!!! I’m anxious and excited for what comes next for the four of them (and Hugh) but jeeeez if the girls in the Stalag doesn’t make me nervous. As always I can’t wait for the next update!!

AHHHH!!! Thank youuu!! The girls being in the Stalag even makes me nervous, and I know what we have planned for them!! I'm going on a trip abroad, so there will be a gap in our posting until I get back, but we're trying to get ahead as much as we can!! You're the best for always supporting us and commenting!!🥹

mads💕

#too sweet #wonderful mutuals

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major-mads · 1 year ago

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Chapter 11: The Wire

John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: enjoy!!💕🫡

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 4.4k

October 1, 1943: Sagan, Germany:

Two days.

Two days of squalor, of the constant smell of human excrement, of pure hell. They’d stopped a few times to pick up other prisoners, prolonging the journey deeper into Germany. When the train car door finally slid open, its occupants shielded their eyes as the bright morning light shone into the car. Frank, Hope, and Ruth remained in the corner, unable to stand when the harsh commands to do so echoed through the air.

“Up!”

The airmen did their best to follow the order, but their weakened bodies slowed their movements, angering the Germans who began roughly pulling them from the train. Once the dozens of legs surrounding them stepped toward the exit, Hope clambered to her feet, her legs shaking as she helped pull Ruth up. They shared an anxious glance while Frank grabbed their jacket sleeves and led the trio toward the door behind the other POWs.

“Stay close,” he stressed, looking to each of them for confirmation. “We’re not gonna get split up this time, alright?”

It took their eyes a few moments to adjust to the blinding light of the sun they hadn’t seen in a few days as they jumped down from the train, mud squelching beneath their boots. Ruth’s eyes scanned their surroundings, noticing the scraggly pine forest with a dirt path in the distance. She jumped in surprise when the car door behind her slammed shut.

The guard at the front of the group motioned toward the path with a yell. “Walk! Now!”

Ruth’s eyes widened in panic as they started walking. “Do you think they’re gonna kill us?”

“No,” Hope replied quietly, offering her friend a forced smile. She honestly didn’t know what the Krauts had planned for them but she wasn’t about to give Ruth something more to worry about. “They wouldn’t transport us this far just to kill us.”

Though Ruth nodded in tentative agreement, Hope’s own doubts lingered, a silent weight pressing down upon her. The uncertainty of their fate was almost unbearable, each step forward carrying them deeper into the unknown.

Where were they going?

How long would they be there?

Would they ever see their loved ones again?

They could feel the filth clinging to their bodies with each step down the path. The mud, sweat, blood, and disgusting muck from the train car coated their clothes. It was far worse than any conditions they had experienced as nurses. The women prayed for a shower or just somewhere they could clean themselves of the grime painting their skin. After almost two weeks, the pain in Ruth’s arm dulled into a throb with every movement, and thankfully, Frank’s ribs were much the same. Hope’s bruises were beginning to fade and the deep gash above her eye had slowly closed.

The path through the forest stretched on for about a half-mile before they reached the edge of the treeline. As they emerged from the forest, the sight before them stole their breath away. A vast clearing spread before them, dominated by a sprawling complex of buildings, huts, and sheds. The entire area was encircled by a pair of menacing barbed-wire fences, their twisted coils glinting ominously in the sunlight. Along the perimeter, wooden guard towers loomed tall, manned by German soldiers armed to the teeth with rifles, machine guns, and searchlights.

Frank’s jaw clenched as he took in the formidable sight, his mind racing with grim possibilities. “Looks like our new home,” he remarked, his tone laced with bitterness. “Real cozy.

Hope’s hand found Ruth’s, squeezing it tightly as their group approached the large main gate. Hope opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a loud siren and the gate creaking open. As they walked through the gates and beyond the perimeter of barbed wire, prisoners flocked to the sides of the walkway, scanning the new arrivals for any familiar faces. They wore frayed and mismatched uniforms, many of them hanging loosely on the men’s slender frames. Some called out to friends they recognized, their excited laughter lifting the atmosphere just slightly. Others murmured in disbelief when they caught sight of the women, their expressions filled with shock and pity.

“Can you believe it? Women here…” one muttered from where he leaned against the wire.

“Poor things,” the man beside him replied sadly. “Leave it to the Germans to make women POWs. I wonder what unit they’re with.”

Among the pitied glances were men whose eyes lingered on Hope and Ruth with a disturbing intensity. It was clear that some hadn’t seen women in years, and their unsettling stares sent a chill down the girls’ spines. Frank shot a warning glare at anyone who dared stare too long, his protective instincts kicking into high gear as he trailed closely behind them.

“Welcome to Stalag Luft III, ladies! This place is going to eat you alive.”

Ruth’s eyes followed the voice to a man ahead of them, his sunken face bearing a smirk. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes and red sores sat along the corners of his lips. The poor man looked terrible, and the fear she’d been so desperately trying to push down gripped her heart tightly. She looked away quickly, but the damage was done, the image was burned into her mind.

Was that her future? To end up like him?

Frank’s voice behind them cut through the buzz of the crowd. “Ignore him,” he said, sparing the man a pointed glance. “He’s just a bitter old timer who’s been here too long.”

Hope nodded in agreement, her grip on Ruth’s hand tightening slightly as they continued past the wire, further into the camp. They were led into one of the buildings and lined up before being searched for any items considered contraband. Thankfully, their Luftwaffe searchers were more respectful than the soldiers who found them after the crash, patting them down without allowing their hands to linger.

Once the search was complete, they were fingerprinted and photographed, reminding the trio of their arrival at Dulag Luft. Thinking back on that day, Hope couldn’t help but wonder where Bob Wolff ended up. He was the only piece of home they had… the only tie to the small corner of East Anglia the women held so dearly to their hearts. The thought was pushed from her mind when a neatly folded pile of two thin blankets, a rough mattress cover, and a straw-filled pillow was thrust toward her. Hope’s heart sank at the sight of the pitiful bedding, knowing it would offer little comfort in the cold nights ahead.

In line before her, Ruth blinked away the tears filling her eyes as she was given a small package filled with eating utensils and toiletries. She clutched the scratchy towel close to her chest, struggling to hold it all with one hand. At the final stop, a man held out her new “dog tags,” her prisoner of war number stamped into the shiny metal. Ruth rearranged the items in her hands and took them from the soldier, lining back up along the wall.

2981, the tag read.

With a shaky sigh, she glanced over at Hope who took hers and joined the blonde against the wall. Frank soon made his way over to them, and before they knew it, their group of about 30 Americans was led back through the camp to a gate leading into one of the many compounds on site. Hope and Ruth’s eyes scanned the large area, taking in the dozens of men walking around, some returning to their blocks after swarming the wire a few minutes before.

All eyes flew to the gate behind them as it shut, sealing them into the compound for the foreseeable future. Despite the open area before them, Ruth felt the reality of their situation wash over her like a frigid ocean wave. Her panic set in. The thought of being confined to this one place for months, years, decades, however long it took for the war to end, was unbearable. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt her heart racing as a sense of claustrophobia overwhelmed her. The barbed wire surrounding her seemed to close in on her, and she fought the urge to run, to try and escape the suffocating camp.

Sensing her distress, Hope immediately gave her things to Frank and reached out to grab her shoulders, reassuringly squeezing them. “Rue, it’s okay,” she said softly, her voice steady and calming. “We’re gonna be alright.”

Frank stepped closer to them. “Take deep breaths, Ruth. In…and out.”

She tried to calm herself, Frank’s words reminding her of John’s that day on the tarmac. Ruth could almost feel his beating heart beneath her hand as she took deep breaths. After a few moments, her breathing evened out and the panic passed. Frank and Hope sent each other a relieved glance, thankful the anxiety strike didn’t progress into a full-fledged attack. It wasn’t the first panic Ruth had around the pair, and Hope was surprised she hadn’t had one since they went down. In her eyes, it was long overdue.

“Welcome to the lovely South Compound,” a commanding voice called out to the group. “I’m Colonel Goodrich, and I’ll be your Commanding Officer during your stay here.”

Goodrich was a tall man with dark, curly hair. He stood tall, his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke. The colonel’s sharp gaze swept over the faces of the men before him, assessing their conditions. But it was when his eyes landed on Ruth and Hope that his expression shifted, a flicker of surprise and concern crossing his features. He hesitated momentarily before gesturing to the shorter man beside him.

“This is Major Dodson. He’s going to assign you to blocks.”

Dodson stepped forward and began to lead the group toward the dozens of buildings across the clearing. The trio started to follow but froze when Goodrich’s voice filled the air.

“You three. Hold on a moment.”

The rest of the group murmured among themselves as they followed Dodson to get their bunking assignments, leaving Hope, Frank, and Ruth standing alone before the Colonel. He approached them with his hands in his pockets, his demeanor serious but not unkind.

“I apologize for singling you out, but we’ve never had women here. I thought maybe it was one thing the Germans wouldn’t do, but here we are…Do you need medical attention?”

Hope exchanged a quick glance with Ruth and Frank before replying, “No, sir. We’re alright, just a bit banged up from the crash.”

Colonel Goodrich nodded, his gaze lingering on the blood and cuts marring Ruth’s face and the grimy appearance of all three of them. “I see. What outfit are you with?”

“806th MAETS,” Frank replied.

“Ahh, so you’re flight nurses, I’m guessing.”

Hope stuck out her hand. “Yes, sir. First Lieutenant Hope Armstrong,” she gestured to herself. “This is my counterpart Second Lieutenant Ruth Morgan, and our pilot Captain Frank Martin.”

Goodrich shook each of their hands and offered the women a kind smile. “I hate you two are stuck here, but I’ll do what I can to help you out. I imagine you’d all like to clean up a bit. Major Dodson can arrange private showers for you, Lieutenants. It’s cold and might not be the Ritz, but it’s better than nothing.”

The thought of showers, of getting clean perked Ruth up, and she nodded once at the man. “Thank you, sir.”

“Of course, ma’am.” Goodrich glanced at his watch before taking a breath and walking away, motioning for them to follow. “I’ll take you to your assigned block. This compound has only been open a few weeks, so there’s a lot of empty rooms.“

The air inside the block was musty, but it felt like a sanctuary compared to the chaos and constant vigilance they’d endured the past few weeks. The Colonel stopped before a door and turned to face them.

“This building is relatively quiet,” he explained, looking down the long hallway at the few men entering their room further down. “You’ll have this room to yourselves. It’ll give you a little bit of privacy.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Colonel Goodrich nodded, and Hope could tell he wished he could do more for them, but this was the best he could do. ”Dodson will be back soon to take you to the showers. Don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything.”

With that, he turned and left them standing in front of the door to their room, staring at the wood blankly. Frank took a deep breath and opened the door. The space was dimly lit by a small window, casting long shadows across the room. Triple-decker bunk beds lined the walls, each one with a thin straw mattress that looked as disgusting as the ones in their Dulag Luft cells. A single table stood in the middle of the room.

“Well, I guess this is it,” Frank remarked, dropping his handful of things to the table with a thud.

Hope nodded in agreement, her gaze lingering on the bunk beds. “At least we have a place to rest.”

Ruth was the first to choose a bunk, opting for the lower bunk farthest from the door, and Hope chose the one beside her. Frank decided on the bunk above Hope. They got settled, putting the thin sheets and blankets on their beds. With a weary sigh, Ruth sank onto her finished bed and closed her eyes. It didn’t feel the greatest, but it was the most comfortable she’d been in weeks, and exhaustion crept up on her as she took a deep breath.

“That man,” she whispered, blinking away tears that stung her eyes, “The one at the gate…”

“What about him?”

“His eyes…they looked so hollow, so hopeless. I-I don’t want to end up like that.”

Hope sat on the edge of Ruth’s bed, placing a hand on her arm. “Hey, you won’t. You’ve got me. And you’ve got Frank. We’re not going anywhere.”

As Hope stared into her friend’s glistening eyes, she hoped the woman couldn’t see through her. That she couldn’t see the terror that possessed her every thought, every moment, every dream since the door of her cell slammed shut at Dulag Luft. It was no secret that they were at the mercy of their captors who could do anything they wanted, and Hope feared it was only a matter of time until the Germans took advantage of it.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, through the thin walls, and Hope’s hear skipped a beat. She could see it now: a German shoving open the door, dragging her and Ruth out by their hair to do unspeakable things to them. But when three quiet knocks filled the air, she furrowed her brows.

Germans wouldn’t knock.

The women watched with bated breath as Frank slowly approached the door, shooting them a warning glance that seemed to say, ‘get ready.’ Before he opened it, the visitor spoke on the other side, their voice muffled through the wood.

“It’s Major Dodson. I’ve arranged some showers for y’all.”

Hope let out a soft exhale, the tension in her shoulders easing as Frank shook his head and opened the door. Quickly blinking her eyes, Ruth tried to clear any sign of tears from her face before he could see. Dodson stepped inside, smiling kindly at the two women sitting on the bed. If he noticed the blonde’s red-rimmed eyes, he didn’t comment on it.

“Nice to meet you, Lieutenants.” He nodded at them, then turned to Frank. “And you, Captain.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dodson held out a bundle of clothing to him. “Here are some fresh clothes. I found the smallest ones possible for you two, but-”

“Thank you,” Hope interrupted. “I’m sure they’re fine, sir.”

“Grab your stuff and follow me. I reckon y’all are chomping at the bit to get clean. I know I was when I arrived.”

His accent held a slight southern twang, and Hope raised an eyebrow at Ruth, who instantly noticed and perked up, feeling a little bit at home. They each gathered their basic shower pack and towel quickly, following the Major out of the building.

“Where are you from, sir?” Ruth asked, walking faster to fall into step with him, already expecting somewhere close to her beloved North Carolina.

A fond smile graced his lips as he thought of home. “Erwin, Tennessee, ma’am. You?”

“Charlotte, North Carolina.”

“Ahh the good ‘ole Queen City,” he chuckled lightly.

Dodson directed them around the corner of a block to a much smaller concrete building, resembling the shower building at Dulag Luft. The krauts sure weren’t original with their POW camp architecture, that was for sure. As they reached the door, the Major spun to face them.

“There are no curtains, so-”

“You two go first,” Frank interrupted, nodding at Hope and Ruth.

“Alright. There’s only one entrance, so Captain Martin and I will stand guard while you two are showerin’. Sound alright?”

Hope and Ruth held each other’s gaze for a moment before thanking him and stepping inside. The room was dark and damp with a row of sinks on one side and a few showerheads on the other. A couple of benches lined the middle, and they set down their packs and towels, exchanging another brief glance before turning their backs to each other before starting to undress.

Ruth carefully removed her sling, supporting her healing arm before shrugging off her flight jacket. She sighed with relief as she stripped off her clothes, feeling the weight of the grime and filth lifting from her skin. As she peeled off her shirt, she winced at her too-quick movements that sent a sharp pain through her forearm.

“I can’t wait to get this thing off,” she groaned, casting a longing glance at her arm, the splint’s once pristine bandages now a disgusting brown. “I can’t even shower 'cause it’ll get wet.”

“How’s it feeling?” Hope asked sympathetically from behind her.

“It still hurts, but it’s better than before.”

“And how long has it been since you got the splint?”

“Barely a week,” she sighed. “The nurse said 6-8 weeks.”

Hope paused, thinking it over for a moment. “I’d have to agree with her. Five more weeks, Rue.”

“Great.”

Silence again filled the small room as Ruth finished undressing. She heard a showerhead coming alive behind her and grabbed her washcloth and moved to one of the sinks, running the tan cloth under the frigid water. Starting with her face, she used the rag to wipe away the dirt and blod daked on her skin. The mix of brown and burgundy drips from the cloth turned the water in the sink a disgusting color as it swirled down the drain.

The macabre sight caused a similar moment to flash in her mind, taking her back to Thorpe Abbotts…to the small officer’s outhouse…to John. Ruth felt the warmth of the shower, the feeling of the hot water rolling down her body. She smelled the familiar scent of Johnny’s soap and heard his low voice above the spray of the water.

“Never saw the sun shining so bright,

Never saw things looking so right.

Watching the days hurrying by,

When you’re in love, my how they fly,

Blue days, all of ‘em gone,

Nothin’ but blue skies from now on…”

Much like that day, tears pricked at the corners of Ruth’s eyes as she focused on the voice of the man she loved. She’d realized on that late August day that she wasn’t alone…that she had someone to stay by her side and take care of her. Ruth had finally fallen helplessly in love, but it had all been ripped away from her without warning.

Was she angry with God? Maybe. As a child, she remembered asking her father why God allowed bad things to happen to good people. Why He allowed her grandfather to be taken from them by a terrible car accident. William Morgan picked his daughter up and placed her on his knee, kissing her temple.

“God doesn’t make bad things happen, sweetheart,” he whispered, wiping the crocodile tear from her cheek. “Everything was perfect in the Garden of Eden, but when Adam and Eve chose to disobey God, it brought sin into the world. That sin is what makes bad things happen, not God. He loves us and gives us a choice in what we do.”

“Is it okay to be mad at him? Are you mad at him?”

William contemplated her questions, searching his wounded heart for the right answer. “It is…and I am. But I don’t blame God.”

“Well, I am too,” Ruth whispered as her lower lip quivered. “I miss papa.”

“I miss him, too. We’re gonna be alright, Ruthie.”

If there was one thing Ruth Morgan always held onto, it was her faith. She didn’t always understand, didn’t always get to see what awaited her through the rough times, but she always believed that God held her close to His heart, giving her strength when she was too weak to go on. Wiping the tear that leaked from her eye, Ruth shook away her thoughts and cleaned her arms and legs, scrubbing away the grime that had accumulated over the previous week and a half. As she washed the dirt from her skin, the various bruises and cuts littering her limbs became visible, some still an angry blue while others were barely yellow-tinted. They were a grim reminder of just how lucky they were to be alive.

Once she was as clean as possible, she hesitated before reaching up to run her hand through her hair…or trying to. Ruth winced when her fingers caught an enormous tangle, painfully pulling on her scalp, and she gave up on the blonde rat’s nest. She instead stuck her whole head under the spigot, doing her best to wash away the dirt with her good hand somehow without tangling it further. Careful of her arm, she changed into the fresh clothes Dodson gave them, trying to pull her hair out of her way with one hand. They hung loosely off her body, but at least they were clean.

“I’ll braid it for you later if you’d like.”

Ruth was startled at the sound of her friend’s voice. She was so deep in thought that she hadn’t heard the shower stop or Hope getting dressed behind her. With a nod, she slipped back on her sling. “Please.”

The girls finished in the bathhouse and joined Frank and Major Dodson outside.

“I’ll lead you back to your bunkhouse,” Dodson suggested and Frank nodded in agreement. “I’d like to think the men here are better than the Krauts, but some of them have been here so long that…” he trailed off.

“Thank you, Dodson,” Frank added, “I’ll have a quick wash up and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Don’t rush, Frank. Ruth and I are just going to settle in,” Hope confirmed, linking her arm through Ruth’s, their eyes meeting for a brief moment.

Dodson had long strides and the girls struggled to keep up with him as he marched back across the camp to their bunkhouse. Hope and Ruth slipped in the mud and clung onto each other to stay uptight. The last thing they wanted was to end up covered in mud again.

Dodson opened the door to the wooden house and led them inside once more. “Do you girls need anything? Anything at all?”

Ruth flopped down onto her bunk with a sigh and Hope shook her head, “No, I think we’re good thank you, Major. I think we just need some sleep.”

The Major nodded, sending Hope a soft smile before he closed the door gently behind him. Now they were alone, Hope moved to sit next to Ruth. She began to run her fingers through Ruth’s damp locks, causing her friend to emit a long, satisfied groan.

“Sit up, Rue, I’ll braid your hair.”

The blonde obliged, sitting up as best she could without hitting her head on the low bed above her. As Hope moved her fingers through her hair Ruth sighed once more, finally feeling a little more relaxed. She’d been so uptight since they had crashed that she’d barely taken a moment to breathe.

Hope stayed silent behind her and Ruth turned to look at her friend, noticing the few tears that had slipped down her cheeks.

“Oh Hope, what’s wrong?”

Hope shook her head firmly, wiping the tears away quickly, “I’m fine. I promise, Rue.”

Ruth knew better than to believe her stoic friend, but she also knew pressing her on the subject would only cause Hope to close up further.

“Dodson seems nice,” she changed the subject, hoping she might be able to distract Hope from whatever was plaguing her.

She hummed in agreement but continued to run her fingers through Ruth’s hair. Grabbing the thin comb from her shower pack, Hope did her best to detangle the mess of blonde before her. She didn’t really feel like talking. The events of the past few weeks had finally caught up with her and she felt as though she might burst with her pent-up emotions.

“I wonder what the guys are doing now?” Ruth replied absentmindedly as she tugged at a loose thread on her bedding. “What do you think they’re doing?”

Hope thought for a moment, trying to imagine the boys back at Thorpe Abbotts. She honestly wasn’t sure what they would be doing, but she knew Ruth was trying her best to make conversation.

“Hugh’s probably annoying John in some way and Gale’s probably trying to keep the peace.”

Ruth chuckled as she imagined Hugh bickering with John like two spoiled children. She could see Gale now, running his hand through his blond locks with an exasperated sigh.

“Poor Gale,” Ruth chuckled, “At least he’ll be good at breaking up fights if you guys have kids.”

She was trying to be positive, to think of the future, but from the look on Hope’s face, she knew her friend was struggling. Pulling her head away from Hope’s hands, she pulled her into a tight hug, squishing her face into Hope’s neck. She could feel Hope relaxing a little beneath her touch. Hope couldn’t help but relax as Ruth’s body collided with her own. It was one of the few things that still made her smile. She wasn’t sure what the coming weeks and months would hold for them, but at least they had each other.

message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list!! <3

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major-mads · 1 year ago

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Just gonna go cry in a dirt pit. I love you. I love Ruth. I love Hope and Frank. I love your writing. You are amazing. Please I need to know if John just holds Ruth when he sees her. My girl needs a bear hug and so does my depressed boy.

oh my gosh thank youuu!! you're too sweet😭😭

i honestly miss writing john and ruth together so much!! i can safely say that he will definitely just hold poor ruth when they reunite. be prepared for some tissues, that's all i'm saying...

thanks for the ask and your support!!🥹💕

#a pair of silver wings

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major-mads · 1 year ago

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Chapter 10: The Soliloquy

John Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: here's a little haussmann jump-scare!! enjoy!

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 4.4k

September 22nd: Dulag Luft: Frankfurt, Germany

Ruth sat curled up in the far corner of the dark, cold, and musty cell she’d been thrown in, her injured arm cradled against her chest. Hope’s makeshift sling was helpful at first, but as time wore on and the pain in the blonde’s arm intensified, it did little to stifle the aching in the limb.

The simple thought of Hope caused tears to sting at her eyes.

Were they alive?

Were they still in their cells?

Sitting completely and utterly alone, and in her own blood and grime, Ruth never felt so dejected…so lonely, so scared. It was no secret that the Germans could do anything they wanted to them without consequence, including one of the most vile things that could happen to a woman.

Ruth prayed and prayed.

She prayed for her friends, for their safety, and for her own.

But most of all, she prayed for John. That she’d see him again, that he wouldn’t lose himself now that she was gone, and that he somehow knew she loved him. All the emotions she held in from the crash, her injury, and her now utter despair rose to the surface, leaving behind no trace of willpower within her. Before she could stop them, tears spilled down her cheeks and a choked sob left her lips. She threw her good hand over her mouth to muffle her cries and leaned her head against the hard cinder-block wall.

In that corner, Ruth let her exhaustion finally pull her under the influence of sleep, and she dozed off as hot tears slowly trickled down her cheeks. A few hours later, her much-needed rest was abruptly shattered by the creak of her cell door swinging open and the harsh light of the hallway flooding into the room. She blinked away the remnants of sleep, her heart pounding as two guards loomed in the doorway.

“Up,” one of them barked, his gruff and highly accentuated voice cutting through the silence like a knife. Ruth hesitated as her injured arm throbbed with her every movement, but she slowly pushed herself to her feet, her sore muscles protesting against the strain. The guards wasted no time grasping her right arm and escorting her down the hallway to a door. One knocked and waited for a response from inside before pushing it open with a grunt, revealing a surprisingly nice office.

Her eyes anxiously darted around the room, taking in the framed portrait of Hitler that hung ominously on the wall, piles of newspapers, and other documents scattered haphazardly across the desk. The guards ushered her forward, their grip firm as they pushed her towards a chair in front of the imposing desk in the middle of the room. Ruth swallowed hard, her mind going haywire as she sank carefully into the seat, her eyes fixed on the desk and not the man on the other side.

The Nazi laced his fingers together and leaned onto the desktop, a concerned expression painting his face as he looked down at her sling. “Lieutenant Morgan, how were you injured? Certainly my men did not do that.”

Unease surged through Ruth as the interrogator’s voice filled the air. She hesitated for a moment while her mind raced and weighed her options. She knew she couldn’t trust him or afford to let her guard down for even a moment.

“When I, uh, bailed,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper as she avoided his gaze by fixing her eyes on the desk. “Got caught in some trees and landed wrong.”

The man’s brow furrowed in apparent concern. “That sounds painful,” he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “But surely you received medical attention for such an injury?”

Ruth shook her head, struggling to maintain her composure. She imagined John’s handsome face, telling her to breathe, to stay calm. “No,” she replied, her voice quiet but strong as she fought to keep the fear from creeping into her voice. “I haven’t.”

The interrogator’s gaze remained fixed on her, his eyes probing for any sign of weakness as he leaned back in his chair. “I see. I will see to it that you receive the medical attention you need…once you’ve answered a few questions.”

A cold knot formed in the pit of her stomach as she realized the true nature of his offer. It was a cruel game just as she expected, a twisted manipulation designed to soften her up for information. She glanced up at the interrogator at last and her eyes narrowed with suspicion as she braced for whatever was to come.

“I am your interrogator, Lieutenant Haussman. The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner you can get medical attention, Ll;ieutenant. So, shall we begin?”

Don’t give them anything. Don’t give them anything. Don’t give them anything…

He reached across the desk and grabbed a file from a nearby stack. “Ruth Morgan, born in Charlotte, North Carolina. Former teacher at…” he flipped the page. “Ah yes, Charlotte Country Day School.”

She stared at him blankly, fighting to keep surprise from her expression.

‘How does he know that? Are my students in danger?’ she thought.

“You were stationed at the Grove in Berkshire with the 806th MAETS, but frequently made visits to Thorpe Abbotts, yes?”

Ruth’s eyes fell back to the desk and she willed her mouth to remain shut. She wouldn’t give him anything, but it didn’t stop him from pressing forward.

“To see a pilot. A Major. John Egan.”

Tears threatened to well in her eyes at the mention of her beloved Major.

Would she ever see him again? Would she die without telling him she loved him? Would he move on?

Taking a deep breath, Ruth tried to maintain her composure. She knew she couldn’t afford to let her emotions betray her and risk revealing anything that might put them in danger. But even as she fought to keep her fear in check, a wave of panic threatened to overwhelm her.

They knew everything.

“I will say,” Haussman began, his unnerving grin returning as he lifted a thin sheet of paper from the file. “I find you Americans and your nicknames fascinating. What exactly is a slugger?”

Ruth clenched her jaw and peered up at him through her lashes, her frustration rising as she realized he was reading John’s letter. This Nazi had no right to go through her things…to touch something so pure and beautiful.

She forced herself to calm down and readjusted in the chair.. “A hard hitter,” she answered quietly.

“Ah. And are you a hard hitter, Lieutenant?”

“No,” Ruth shook her head. “I am not.”

“Is Major Egan a hard hitter? As a Squadron Commander, he must be, yes?”

When she didn’t respond, he leaned his elbows back onto the desk, holding up the letter. “I see you know him very well. Major Egan must have told you of his exploits at Regensburg. Or Trondheim?”

‘He told me how your evil regime killed one of his best friends,’ she thought. ‘Along with 90 other men in their group.’

“I read the same papers as everyone,” Ruth replied.

Haussman momentarily nodded to himself before pulling out the picture from Dye’s part and holding it up for her to see. “A nice photograph, yes?”

The silence that filled the room was deafening.

Memories from that night flashed into Ruth’s mind…dancing to the band’s slow jazz cheek to cheek, laughing with their friends, John inviting her to London…

Now she’d never get to go.

Seemingly done with the topic, he picked up two new files and tossed them onto the desk before him. “How about we talk about Hope Armstrong and Frank Martin, Ruth? Where did you meet?”

The blonde’s eyes widened just slightly as her mind ran rampant with questions about her friends. She wanted to ask where they were, if they were alright, but she knew she couldn’t. That’s what Haussman wanted.

Don’t give them anything. Don’t give them anything. Don’t give them anything…

“How did an inexperienced nurse like yourself get placed with such a skilled nurse and pilot?”

Ruth raised her good shoulder in a small shrug.

“You must be curious about your colleagues, Lieutenant. I would like to talk to you about them, but I need you to talk to me as well.”

It was a trick.

She pressed her lips tightly together and forced herself to maintain his gaze. “Ruth Morgan. 2nd Lieutenant-”

“Lieutenant Morgan,” he interrupted with a chuckle. “I already know about you. I want to know about Major Egan. Tell me about him. You love him, yes?”

‘More than he ever knew,’ she thought.

How could Ruth sum up John Egan? A rambunctious midwesterner who loved baseball, his men, and flying? The 418th Squadron CO with one of the biggest hearts she’d ever known? The loyal friend and strong leader? The man she loved?

She wouldn’t.

Swallowing the emotion that crept up her throat, she found her voice again. “Ruth Morgan, Second Lieutenant. N-743301.”

“When was your trip scheduled?” he asked with a taunting smirk, ignoring her statement. “London is a beautiful city. Very romantic.”

You could hear a pin drop in the interrogation room as the words left the man’s mouth. The already tense atmosphere became stifling and became too much for the blonde.

Rage was an emotion that was foreign to Ruth Morgan. Yes, she’d been angry at students, her family, and what was happening in Europe, but the all-consuming feeling of rage had never coursed through her veins. Sitting in the small office, that changed.

As his words hung in the air, Ruth felt a surge of rage bubble up from deep inside her with an intensity she’d never experienced before. It ignited like wildfire and consumed her thoughts, drowning out the fear that gripped her moments before. Ruth’s jaw clenched and her right hand tightened into a fist as she fought to keep the new emotion in check.

He was just toying with her now.

“I have nothing more to say,” she replied, her voice steady despite her heart pounding in her chest.

Silence fell over the small room and was only broken by the faint sounds of distant footsteps echoing down the hallway outside. The Lieutenant regarded her for a long moment, his expression unreadable as he seemed to weigh his next move.

Finally, he nodded slowly. “Very well.”

A few moments later, the door swung open with a creak, and the two guards who’d brought her into the room earlier stepped inside. Haussman gestured toward Ruth with a nod of his head. “See to it that Lieutenant Morgan gets medical attention,” he instructed the men.

Ruth’s eyes widened in surprise that he was following through with his promise even after she didn’t give him anything.

“I am a man of my word, Ruth,” he replied simply, offering her a nod.

With that, he turned away, his attention already shifting to the documents and newspapers scattered across his desk as the guards moved forward to escort her from the room. Ruth rose to her feet slowly, withholding a wince, and turned toward the door when he called out to her one last time.

He held out John’s envelope. “I have no need for these.”

Ruth took it and allowed the guards to lead her back down the dark hallway and to the infirmary. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat and disinfectant, and the sound of coughing and muted groans echoed off the bare walls. The compound’s infirmary was little more than a cramped room filled with rows of narrow cots, each one occupied by a sick or injured POW.

A dark-haired, older nurse approached Ruth and ushered her toward an empty cot while the guards lingered by the door. “Sit down,” she instructed in heavily accented English.

Ruth complied, wincing as she gingerly sat on the cot with her left arm cradled against her chest. The nurse’s trained eyes swept over the American’s form, taking in the disheveled state of her uniform and the pained expression etched upon her features.

“I have not seen a woman here before,” the nurse stated, her eyes flicking over to the guards momentarily.

Ruth nodded. “I’m a flight nurse…or was.”

With an understanding nod, the nurse set to work, gently removing the makeshift sling that Hope had made and helping her pull the arm from her flight jacket. She rolled her sleeve up to her upper arm and carefully examined her forearm. Ruth winced loudly as the nurse prodded at the tender area, her jaw clenched against the pain that shot through her arm. For the first time since the crash, she got a glimpse of the extent of her injury. Her forearm was mottled with dark bruises, the skin swollen and discolored.

After a thorough examination, the nurse confirmed Hope’s suspicion. “Your arm is probably fractured,” she said, her tone matter of fact. “You will wear a splint.”

‘Well, I knew that,’ she thought.

Twenty minutes and multiple layers of bandages later, the nurse secured the splint on Ruth’s forearm. The splint thankfully fit inside her oversized flight jacket’s sleeve, and she watched as the nurse received a fresh sling from a nearby drawer, securing it around her arm and shoulder.

“There,” the nurse said, her voice softening slightly. “This should help. The splint will stay on for 6 to 8 weeks.”

Ruth quietly thanked the woman and started to speak again when the guards appeared beside her cot, one gesturing toward the door. “Time to go.”

Gulping, she stood from the cot and sent the nurse one last glance as she followed them out of the infirmary. They followed the same route as before, and Ruth’s eyes wandered down every hall they passed, trying to memorize the layout if, by any miracle, she was able to escape.

The lies people tell themselves.

Before she knew it, her cell door opened with a familiar creak. The nurse took a deep breath from where she stood right outside the threshold, the darkness in the small room sending shivers down her spine.

‘You can do this,’ she told herself. ‘They can’t keep you here forever.’

But they could if they wanted to…

Ruth forced away the thought and stepped into the room, a shuddering sigh escaping her when the door locked shut. Alone once more in the dim confines of her cell, she sank into the corner. The cold and hard floor was more uncomfortable than the disgusting train car they’d been transported in from Schiltach, but it was better than the even harder wooden cot against the wall.

Reaching into her pocket, Ruth pulled out John’s envelope and removed the letter. She traced the familiar lines of his sloppy handwriting as she read it to herself.

“Hey slugger,” the letter began, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She could almost hear his voice as she read his words, the mere thought of him bringing warmth to her heart that she desperately needed in the freezing cell.

As she continued to read, a lump formed in her throat, tears welling in her eyes as John’s words washed over her. “You’re just so beautiful…the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on…have I told you that? When I start to spiral, I just look at you and your smiling face, and I remember what all this is for.”

With a trembling hand, Ruth reached for the small photograph tucked inside the envelope. Memories from Dye’s party flooded her mind as she studied the treasured image, their last night together forever frozen in time. She thought that night seemed months, even years in the past, but it had somehow been less than a week.

“Yours completely, John Egan.”

And she was his completely, but he didn’t know it.

“I love you,” Ruth whispered weakly, running her thumb over his grinning face. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

The days stretched on for Ruth in the confines of her cell, and she got used to her routine.

She woke up, was given a thin slice of sour black bread with disgusting ersatz jam, was taken to use the latrine, and then spent a few hours just staring at the various writings and drawings on the cell walls left by its previous inhabitants. Her favorite was the multiple drawings of what looked like Canadian Mounties, their hats and collars resembling the iconic uniforms she’d seen pictures of.

Before long, a guard would deliver her daily bowl of soup, sometimes with potatoes or sometimes cabbage, but never meat. The rest of the day was much of the same with her getting one more latrine visit and a slice of bread in the evening.

As a child, Ruth thought the epitome of boredom was spending an hour in timeout in her room after getting in a fight with James. She’d stare at the ceiling, itching to go outside or read a book…to do anything. But sitting in her cell…in Dulag Luft…in Nazi Germany, boredom morphed with helplessness and uncertainty to create a potent mix that threatened to crumble the woman.

She sighed and sat up on her straw mattress to lean against the wall, her mind replaying memories to keep her occupied. Some were of her family, her grandmother, or James, and others were of Hope and Frank. Her favorites, however, were of John. Ruth recalled every second they’d spent together since July, and every time, the precious moments filled her with both warmth and intense loneliness at the same time. His letter sat in her breast pocket with worn corners from the numerous times she’d read it, and Ruth could recite each word from heart. The woman’s tears had stopped falling soon after her interrogation…there were no tears left to cry.

Her tank was empty in more ways than one.

More often than not, her thoughts also drifted to Hope and Frank. She prayed they were alive, that they hadn’t given up hope in their 10-by-5 prison. The Brits in the mess hall told them they wouldn’t be there for long, but doubt picked at Ruth daily.

Would they be one of the exceptions and be forced to live like this for years?

And that question still swirled in her mind after being in the cramped cell for 9 days.

9 days alone. 9 days eating nothing but sour bread and soup. 9 days of pain with her every movement.

9 days of hell.

The 10th day started like every other with her meager breakfast and latrine trip, but when there was no knock and no soup delivery, she knew something was up. Her routine was the only thing stable in her life, and its disruption caused fear and anxiety to bubble up within her. Minutes later, the door swung open, and she quickly slid off the cot to the floor with a pounding heart. There was a commotion from the hallway, the sounds of creaking doors and yelling filling her cell.

“Out!”

Ruth blinked against the sudden influx of light as the guard barked the order and she followed him out into the hallway. She scanned a few other prisoners’ faces pulled from their cells but had no luck finding a familiar face. As she was led with the other prisoners out of the building, her mind raced with questions, but she knew better than to voice them aloud.

Where were they going?

Were Frank and Hope going, too?

She exited the hallway and stepped into the chilly noon air, the mud squelching beneath her boots as she walked across the unkept courtyard toward a small dilapidated building. A line of prisoners snaked out the door, flanked by guards who kept watch. A few others emerged from the hut’s side door clean-shaven and hair dripping.

“Showers,” the guard grunted, gesturing toward the building.

The thought of washing herself of the layers of blood, sweat, dirt, and grime that clung to her skin was both enticing and terrifying. She longed for the feeling of hot water washing away the filth, of soap scrubbing away the stains of her captivity. But the idea of stepping into a communal shower surrounded by men she didn’t know sent a jolt of panic through her. She couldn’t risk getting her splint wet even if she wanted to shower.

‘I can’t,’ she thought, panic gripping her heart. ‘I can’t do this.’

Ruth’s steps faltered as she neared the shower building, and the guard tugged roughly on her arm to pull her forward. Defying every instinct within her, she dug her heels into the ground.

“I can’t go,” she finally managed to choke out.

Frustration etched the guard’s face as he glared at her. “You must,” he snapped, his voice sharp with irritation.

The Germans wouldn’t care if she was uncomfortable, so she chose the only possible option.

She swallowed hard. “I can’t,” she stammered, her hand trembling as she gestured to her sling.. “My arm. I-I can’t get my splint wet.”

“You will regret it,” he grumbled, pulling her toward the camp’s entrance.

They soon joined a larger group of prisoners just as a train came into view. The engine stood imposingly on the tracks, and Ruth’s memories of her trip to Dulag Luft came to the forefront of her mind.

The fear, the pain, the filthy conditions…but at least she had Frank and Hope. What would she do without them beside her?

Ruth was drawn from her thoughts by dogs barking and the shrill yells of the guards who began shoving the prisoners toward the awaiting train cars.

“Move! Go!”

Bodies pressed against her on all sides as the group was herded to the nearest car, a few prisoners losing their balance at the Germans’ relentless shoving. Frank was not there to keep her close this time, and Ruth moved with the throng of men as they began boarding. When she reached the front, she took a shaky breath and attempted to pull herself up into the car. Desperation clawed at her as she fought to hoist herself into the compartment with her good arm, her fingers slipping on the rough wooden edges, struggling to find a grip.

“In! Now! Schnell!”

Just as she feared she would fall back onto the cold, hard ground below, a strong hand suddenly reached down and grasped her wrist, pulling her upward into the car. A relieved gasp left Ruth’s lips as her feet landed, and she turned towards her savior. He wore an A-2 jacket much like her friends from Thorpe Abbotts…American.

“Thank you,” she sighed, nausea rising in her throat as the rancid smell of manure and urine filled her nose. Ruth pushed it back down and nodded at the man.

He offered her a half-smile, the best one any of them could produce. “No problem, ma’am. Are you alright? Did they…”

“I’m okay,” she replied, her words barely audible over the commotion of the platform. “And no. They didn’t,”

The airman nodded to himself, seemingly thinking over her words before he pointed to a nearby vacant corner of the car. “I’d set up shop over there. I’ve got a feeling we’re not going to have much room once this thing is full.”

With another thank you, Ruth sank into the corner and hugged her knees to her chest as more and more men boarded the car. The airman who helped her moved to help other weak and wounded prisoners while she contemplated her new reality for the umpteenth time over the last ten days.

A POW. Being stuck in enemy territory for the foreseeable future seemed only bearable if she had Hope and Frank with her. Deep down, Ruth didn’t know how long she’d last on her own in such a hostile place.

“Ruth!”

The familiar voice cut through the chaos of the crowded train car, and Ruth’s eyes shot up from the grimy floor to the open doors. Tears that had long dried burned in her eyes as she spotted Frank and Hope making their way through the densely packed prisoners.

“Hope! Frank!” Ruth called out, her voice trembling as tears of relief welled in her eyes. She pushed herself up from the corner and hurried over to meet them halfway. When they reached her, Hope enveloped Ruth in a tight embrace, holding her close as if she was afraid to let go.

“Oh, Rue, I’ve been so worried. I’m sorry,” Hope cried. “I’m so sorry. I was supposed to watch out for you, and-”

Pulling back from the hug, Ruth’s brows furrowed as tears glistened in her eyes. “Stop. You’ve got nothing to apologize for. You didn’t know they’d separate us.”

Frank then pulled her into a tight embrace, careful of both her arm and his still-healing ribs. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just hungry and grimy. But I’m just glad to see you both.”

Hope wiped a tear that leaked from her eye and nodded. “Same here.”

When even more men climbed aboard, they were pushed back into Ruth’s corner and sat down, watching the entrance warily as the rail car became increasingly crowded.

How many prisoners were they going to shove in there?

Before long, there was barely any room to move, and the trio were thankful they sat before the door was slammed shut, plunging them into darkness except for the light shining through the cracks in the wooden slats. Most of the men were forced to stand. The train moved forward with a shrill screech and rumbled on toward its destination. Ruth sat between Hope and Frank, her good hand held tightly by her best friend.

“Were you interrogated?” Frank asked, turning to the girls with a creased brow.

Ruth swallowed thickly, thinking back on her visit with Lieutenant Haussman. “He…uh, tried to get me to talk about John,” she said quietly, staring out at the dozens of legs before her. “But I didn’t. He did send me to the infirmary, though.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “A nurse splinted my arm. It still hurts, but I’m managing. What about y’all?”

Hope didn’t meet Ruth’s eyes. She didn’t want to talk about her time in the cell, the things she’d thought, the things she’d done.

Frank noticed the uncomfortable look on Hope’s face and spoke up. “Well, my ribs are still pretty banged up but Hope’s expert bandaging skills are holding me together.”

The three chuckled quietly and Hope shot Frank a grateful smile. Even though they sat in pure filth, had no idea where they were being taken, and were struggling with the mental strain of their ordeal, they were together… And that gave them more hope than anything.

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major-mads · 1 year ago

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MASTERS OF THE AIR (2024) part six, dir. Anna Boden & Ryan Fleck

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major-mads · 1 year ago

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Interlude Part 1: The Letter

John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: sorry for the depressing stuff, guys...please comment and reblog to tell me what you think!!

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 1.7k

September 23: Thorpe Abbotts AAF, Norwich: 1200 HRS

The roaring of engines filled the air as forts of the 349th, 350th, and 351st squadrons taxied the runway and took off toward Vannes, France. John propped against the concrete wall on the deck of the control tower, his eyes stuck on Buck’s fort as it disappeared into the clouds.

He couldn’t take another loss.

The Major’s hand itched to reach for the flask in his pocket, but there were prying eyes there, eyes that would report him to Harding or Stover…if they hadn’t already. He stood up from the wall and braced his hands against the cool metal railing, the weight of Ruth’s lucky cross around his neck unusually heavy.

He didn’t know why she’d been killed…didn’t understand it. Was it just fate? Was it the universe’s retribution for what he’d done?

A part of him, the part that relied on lucky deuces and jackets, blamed himself. He should’ve forced her to take back the necklace, not taking no for an answer.

He should’ve…

Should’ve.

Before July, should’ve was not in John Egan’s vocabulary. If he wanted to do something, he did it without worrying about the consequences. If he wanted to go to the pub and get drunk, he did it. If he wanted to pretend to be a unicorn with a narwhal tusk, he did it.

Now, he found that the word made up the majority of his thoughts.

I should’ve spent more time with her.

I should’ve spoken kinder to her that night.

I should’ve told her I loved her.

John’s fingers drummed against the railing as he fought to keep his emotions in check. The ever-present ache in his chest threatened to overwhelm him, and he turned to quickly exit the tower.

He needed to get away…needed a drink.

As he rounded the corner toward the steps, a hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. He glanced over to see Red standing beside him, his freckled face filled with sympathy.

“How’re you doing, Bucky?” Bowman’s voice was uncharacteristically soft and tinged with concern.

Forcing a tight-lipped smile, Johnny’s facade of strength faltered slightly. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice deepening as he tried to cover the emotion creeping up his throat.

Red arched a skeptical brow, his gaze piercing through Bucky’s facade. “You sure about that?”

John hesitated as his words caught in his throat. He wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all. But he couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Instead, he forced himself to nod once, the movement stiff and mechanical. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he assured him again.

Staring at him for a moment longer, Bowman didn’t believe him, but he sighed quietly nonetheless. “Alright, Bucky. Let me know if you or Buck need anything, alright.”

With another curt nod, Johnny ended the conversation and took off down the stairs, taking deep breaths. He was unable to resist the urge any longer, and he pulled out his flask, relishing in the burning sensation that seemed to drown out the pain that coursed through him.

It really didn’t get rid of the pain…just masked it, dressed it up in different costumes that gave the illusion it was gone.

John feared the pain of losing Ruth would never go away.

While in the middle of a long swig of whiskey, the side door to the mail office swung open and an orderly with a stack of letters stepped out. John quickly turned around and screwed the lid shut, stashing his only comfort in the pocket of his jacket before facing the man.

“Oh, Major Egan, sir. You have mail,” the orderly smiled politely, flipping through his stack of letters. “Here it is, sir. Handwritin’ is real pretty.”

He held out the letter and John stared at his outstretched hand with a creased brow.

Who could it be? His sisters? His ma?

“You alright, Major?”

Those new replacements didn’t know anything.

John snapped from his trance and took the letter carefully. “Sorry,” he grunted, opening his mouth to speak again as he flipped it over to see the return address.

His world stopped turning for the second time in two days when ‘Berkshire’ stared back at him.

The letter was from Ruth.

The letter burned a hole through his hand as John stood frozen, his eyes unable to tear away from the familiar looping cursive on the envelope. He had no recollection of how long he’d been standing there, but the orderly was nowhere in sight even he finally looked up. With trembling hands and a pounding heart, John carefully tucked the letter into his jacket and turned on his heel.

Much like the day he found out…the day his life changed, his feet led him to one of the only places he felt free, free to be himself, free to be vulnerable. Somewhere to be alone.

The walk to the Muggs’ was short, and before he knew it, he was pulling himself up into the B-17, the familiar scent of cordite and engine oil enveloping him like an old friend. He slouched into the pilot’s seat and closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment to get his emotions in check.

Removing the letter from his pocket, he traced the lines of each letter on the envelope. For a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to open it, knowing it would be the last he’d ever hear from her, the last words he’d ever get that were meant for him and him alone.

There would be no more late-night conversations on B-17 wings or in the corners of pubs…there would be nothing. Nothing but memories of her.

John fought against his wobbling lip and pressed them tightly together, taking a deep breath. He carefully tore open the envelope and withdrew the letter.

September 20th, 1943

Johnny,

Hey, honey. I’m doing good! Tired, but good! How are you doing? Please be truthful.

I know you’ve got a heavy load on your shoulders, and I just want to say that I meant every word I said the other night. I’m here for you, John Egan. Even when I’m not physically there beside you, know that you are in my thoughts always, and that I pray God will keep you safe and give you the strength to push through this terrible war.

He lowered the letter to his lap as the tears he’d been holding back finally fell, a solitary teardrop landing on the thin paper. She always had a way of telling him what he needed to hear, and without even realizing it, she’d done it again. Hastily wiping the tears from his cheeks, he shakily raised the letter again.

I can’t wait to go to London with you, to finally spend more than a few hours together. There’s so much to see, and it will be even better with you by my side. We both could use a break. I haven’t heard anything from Chief Nurse Dunnam, but I don’t think she’ll have a problem with it. As for you giving her a call, I think your “charm” wouldn’t do much, seeing as she’s been immune to the base pilots’ passes at her. I think I want to keep your charm all to myself, anyway.

I love our picture more than I can even put into words. I’m so glad I finally have something to look at when I start to miss your smiling face.

I’m so thankful that we landed that day, too, hon. Knowing you has changed my life in the best way possible, and I can’t imagine any future without you in it. I’m going to hold you to your promise of meeting my students when we get home. I have a feeling they’re going to be as enamored with you as I am.

Swallowing hard against the sob that clawed its way up his throat, John’s mind flashed with images of the future he’d just begun to imagine. White dresses and rings, houses and keys, early mornings and late nights, children and the pitter-patter of little feet…

Every plan, every hope for the future seemed hollow and meaningless without her, and John wondered if that future was even worth seeing…worth living without her beside him.

We just got word that we’re going on a run, so I’ve got to cut this short although I feel I could write you pages upon pages. I will write you another letter once we return, for I have so much more I want to say to you.

But for now, know you have my heart, my prayers, and my unending support.

Be safe for me, alright? Talk to you soon.

Yours Completely,

Ruth Morgan

P.S. I (don’t) hate to tell you, but the Yankees aren’t as good as you think, Johnny. We’ll have to go to a game one day so you can finally see that.

The Major’s vision blurred as he read her words, the ink on the page swimming before his eyes. Ruth’s voice echoed inside his head, reading every sentence like she was right beside him. Bucky pressed his lips tightly together, his chest heaving with the effort to keep his sobs at bay, but it was futile.

She was gone…

Before he knew what was happening, his body shook with sobs, and nothing but the quiet huffs of his cries filled the air of the cockpit. John closed his eyes and tried to shut out the world, but the woman’s presence lingered like a ghost, haunting him with his lost hopes of a life beyond the war…a life full of love and laughter. In that moment, John Egan felt completely and utterly alone, lost in his grief for the woman he loved.

Ruth was gone, and with her, went any hope of a future worth living.

His hand unconsciously drifted to his pocket where he felt the familiar shape of his flask, and pulled it from his jacket. Raising it to his lips, Johnny hesitated for just a moment.

He’d be sober…cleaned up by the time the boys would return…or at least that’s what he told himself.

John let out a resigned sigh and his eyes as he took a long, deep swig, feeling the liquid fire sear his throat and dull the ache in his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked as he reached up to grasp the cross around his neck. “I’m sorry.”

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major-mads · 1 year ago

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Chapter 9: The Anatomy of Courage

John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: this chapter has been in the works for a while, and a lot of research has gone into it! the scenes in Dulag Luft were heavily inspired by Frank Murphy's account of his experience there in his book, Luck of the Draw!! As always, thanks for being patient, and let us know what you think in the comments or our ask boxes!!💕

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 10k

September 20th: 07:20 AM

The roar of ME-109s and flack bursts echoed inside the Angel, producing a deafening cacophony of machine-gun fire and metal tearing into the C-47.

“There goes the last engine. We’re going down! We gotta bail out, girls. Grab your chutes now!” Frank yelled, the veins in the pilot’s arms bulging as he fought to keep the plane level. Hope remained frozen, staring at Billy’s lifeless body…he was only 21 years old.

“Hope?” Frank called out. “Hope, look at me! You’ve gotta go, get yourself and Ruth out, I’ll keep the old girl steady until you're both out, then I’ll be right behind ya.”

Hope shook her head, tears building in her eyes, “No! We’re in this together! I’m not leaving you, not now. Not after everything!”

“For Pete’s sake, Hope! Will you do as you’re told for once and stop being so damn stubborn!” Frank snapped with his eyes still trained ahead, and Hope noticed how the veins on his temples pulsed angrily, and his face grew redder by the second. “Now, please just go, I’ll be behind you, I promise!”

“Okay,” Hope nodded solemnly, climbing from the copilot's seat and hurrying towards Ruth, who was already shakily trying to put on her parachute. Hope helped her do up the straps and buckles before she did the same with Hope.

“I can't do this. I only jumped once in training. I-I can’t jump out of a plane. I’m a teacher, not a paratrooper. I-I…” Ruth continued to ramble, her panic-stricken features breaking Hope’s heart, and her tears began to trickle down her cheeks. Hope grasped hold of Ruth’s shoulders, pulling her shaking frame against her chest.

“It’s going to be okay. We’re gonna be just fine, but we’ve got to do this. We can’t stay here, Rue. I need you to be strong for me now, okay? I need you to be strong for both of us,” Hope tried to encourage the girl towards the door but she froze, riveted to the plane.

“But Hope, we’re over Germany. The-the Kraut’s will get us and then… then I don’t know what they’ll do to us.” Ruth’s bottom lip began to tremble, her breath coming out in short, sharp gasps.

Hope nodded solemnly, “I know we are, Rue, but this is our only option. I promise you that I will be with you every step of the way, no matter what, okay?” Hope squeezed Ruth’s hand and she returned the sentiment, allowing Hope to lead her towards the door.

Both girls hooked up to the static line, checking their equipment quickly. “Are you ready?”

Ruth nodded, swallowing the bile that threatened to creep up her throat as the plane shook violently beneath them.

“See you on the other side, Rue.”

“See you in a minute,” Ruth threw her arms around her friend, squeezing her tightly before stepping into the door, pausing for a moment before throwing herself out into the clouds.

As she fell through the air, her heart pounded against her chest with a ferocity that matched the roar of the wind rushing past her ears. Ruth’s static line unhooked, and just as her chute billowed into the sky, the roaring of a fighter and the sound of machine-gun fire filled her senses. She gasped as the rounds went directly around her, missing her body by just a few feet. Her chute, however, wasn’t as lucky. The white silk was littered with holes, and her descent accelerated rapidly, bringing her plummeting toward a nearby group of trees.

Ruth frantically tried to steer away from the forest, but the damaged chute was unresponsive. “No, no, no,” she cried, bracing for impact.

The treeline rushed up to meet her, and with a jolt, Ruth crashed into the dense canopy of trees, her chute becoming entangled in the branches. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through her body, and she cried out as she tumbled through the branches, her arms flailing desperately to break her fall. Twigs snapped, leaves rustled, and she felt the sharp sting of cuts and scrapes as she collided with the unforgiving branches.

Finally, The parachute ripped free with a sharp snap, and Ruth plummeted to the forest floor below. She landed hard with a thud, her left arm bearing the brunt of the impact, causing an excruciating jolt of pain to shoot through her, knocking the breath from her lungs. She gasped for air and clutched her injured arm, tears trickling down her cheeks as she struggled to push past the overwhelming pain. Every nerve in her body screamed at her as she lay sprawled amidst the tangled undergrowth.

Panic gripped the woman like a vice as she realized the gravity of her situation. She was alone, injured, and in German territory.

Where was Hope? Frank?

Did they make it?

Thoughts raced through her mind, each one more terrifying than the last.

What if I never find Hope or Frank?

What if I’m captured by the Germans?

What if I never make it home?

What if I never see John again?

Ruth’s struggled to push back the rising tide of panic threatening to consume her. She thought back on Johnny’s calming words the day they’d first been hit by flack…

“I need you to breathe.”

Taking a deep breath through his nose, he nodded at her with raised brows, worry etching his face. “With me, now.”

Ruth shook her head. “I-I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” the Major asserted firmly, reaching for her hand and holding it against his chest. “Feel that? Breathe with me. In…” he breathed through his nose. “And out…”

Taking slow, shallow breaths through her nose, she fought to regain control of her racing heart. She exhaled shakily and rolled onto her back, her gaze falling on the tangled mess of her parachute a few feet away. The once bright silk was littered with holes and large tears in the fabric.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “You can do this. You can do this.”

She sat up, gritting her teeth and scooting over to lean against a nearby tree, the rough bark pressing into her back. With a heavy sigh, she glanced down at the straps and clips of her harness still clinging to her body.

Her fingers trembled as she reached her right hand for the first clip across her chest, her injured arm protesting with each minuscule shift. Ruth managed to release the clip and moved her attention to the one connecting her leg straps. The right one came free easily, but she couldn’t quite reach the left clip over her bulky equipment.

“Come on, come on,” Ruth muttered under her breath as she struggled to reach the clip. Her small fingers brushed against the cool metal, but wasn’t enough to get it loose. She leaned her head against the tree and took a deep breath.

“Please.”

With one last effort, Ruth shifted and reached across her body for the latch. She felt the metal beneath her fingertips once again, but this time, she felt the button and pressed down on the release mechanism. It unlatched with a satisfying click as the clip came undone at last.

Ruth carefully slipped the harness from her shoulders before pushing herself to her feet. She needed to find Hope and Frank if any of them stood a chance of evading capture. Just as she set off, the hushed whisper of voices floated through the air, and Ruth’s heart dropped as she frantically searched for somewhere to hide. Her eyes caught sight of a nearby bush that was big enough and quickly took off for it. Just as she reached the cover, her foot caught on a root, sending her to the ground in a heap, branches crunching loudly beneath her. Pain shot up her arm as she collided with the dirt, and she bit down hard on her lip to stifle a cry. She pushed past the pain and scrambled completely behind the bush, covering her nose and mouth to quiet the sound of her pants.

Amidst the rustling leaves and her racing heartbeat, she heard it…the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked. Fear gripped her once again as she imagined the German soldiers closing in, coming to take her away, to do whatever they wanted with her.

Would Hope and Frank escape?

Would John ever know what happened to her?

Closing her eyes, she began to pray…

Lord, please protect Hope. Protect Frank. Keep them safe. Please give me the strength to endure whatever may come next if it’s Your will. And be with John, Lord. Watch over him. Amen.

The sound of footsteps drew closer and each crunch of leaves echoed like thunder in Ruth’s ears as she braced herself for the inevitable. She held her breath, waiting for the moment she’d be discovered.

But then a voice cut through the darkness, and Ruth’s heart skipped a beat. “Come out. Nice and slow.”

What German had a New Jersey accent?

She popped her head out from behind the bush with a small whimper, her eyes widening as Frank stood before her, his pistol pointed in her direction. He immediately lowered the weapon and Hope moved out from behind him, rushing toward the blonde.

“Ruth!” Hope gasped, falling beside her friend and throwing her arms around her neck, squeezing her close. “You’re okay.”

Relief filled her system seeing her best friend, and she hugged her back the best she could with her injured arm close to her chest. “Hope,” Ruth whispered, the pain moving to the back burner amid the pure joy she felt.

Hope’s hands fell instinctively to Ruth’s injured arm despite her friend’s small protest. She ran her fingers up and down the limb, noticing the swelling around the wrist and elbow joint. Rummaging in her musette bag, Hope pulled free some bandages, wrapping the affected limb tightly to provide some support and help reduce the swelling that was already growing along Ruth’s arm.

She sat back on her feet, scanning the area for the blonde’s parachute. Finding it a few feet away, she quickly grabbed it and pulled it over to the bush. She cut out a large triangle, folding it in half, and placing the injured limb inside the makeshift sling. She worked swiftly, and no words were exchanged between the three until Hope was finished.

“Are you alright? What happened?” Hope finally asked, tying the knot securely at the base of Ruth’s neck. She cupped her friend's cheek tenderly, and relief flooded through her as those bright blue eyes she’d grown to love so much blinked tearily back at her.

Ruth stood to her feet with a wince. “My chute got shot up and I-I hit the trees…fell on my arm,” she paused, her voice dropping to a pained whisper as the mere thought of the crash brought the pain crashing over her again. “Hope, I think…I think it’s broken.”

“Yeah, at least fractured,” Hope nodded with a concerned frown, wiping away some of the blood dripping from a cut on Ruth’s temple. “When we-”

Before the nurse could continue, Frank’s hand landed on her shoulder and his eyes scanned the forest around them. “I’m sorry, but we’ve gotta get going. The krauts are probably on their way as we speak.”

Hope quickly stashed the parachute behind the bush and took her place under Frank’s arm, allowing him to lean against her while Ruth watched with furrowed brows.

“What did you do?” she asked worriedly.

The pilot shot her a pained grin. “I’m alright,” he gritted as they started walking slowly. “Hope, we’ve gotta go faster. I don’t care about my ribs. Let’s go.”

Picking up the pace, they made their way through the small but hilly forest, eyes scanning the surrounding trees. Frank and Hope led the way and he held his pistol at the ready, nothing but the quiet sounds of their footsteps in the air. Ruth trailed right behind them, no less than an arm’s length away at all times. Her arm throbbed where it sat in the sling but she could only imagine the pain Frank was in. The nurses had seen a few grown men cry from the pain of a few broken ribs.

The sun sat high in the sky when they finally reached the forest’s edge, and more rolling hills and patches of forest stretched on in the distance, the only building in sight a small house in a clearing ahead. Hope panted from under Frank’s arm as the trio debated their next move.

“We can’t go out into the open. They’ll see us for sure,” Hope whispered, gesturing with her free hand for Ruth to come up beside them.

The blonde took a step forward, but when something cold and hard pressed against the back of her head, she froze. Her eyes widened and a gasp escaped her lips just before a hand clamped over her mouth, pulling her back into a warm body. The pressure moved to the side of her head…she knew what it was, and her chest heaved as terror overtook her.

They couldn’t be captured.

How were they supposed to be POWs?

What would they do to them?

Following her gasp, Hope craned her head to look over her shoulder at the blonde, her face falling at the sight before her. She met Ruth’s terror-filled eyes, and helplessness coursed through her. She opened her mouth to speak but the German beat her to it, his heavily accented voice harsh and guttural.

“Drop your weapon or I’ll shoot,” the soldier commanded, his words cutting through the silence of the forest.

Ignoring the pain in his torso, Frank spun around with his gun raised. His grip on the pistol tightened for a moment as his jaw clenched. With a gruff sigh, he slowly lowered the weapon to the ground, his eyes never leaving the soldier who held Ruth against his chest.

“Drop it!”

Tossing the pistol to the forest floor, Frank raised his hands to the best of his ability and Hope did the same, unable to tear her gaze away from Ruth’s. Her eyes seemed to tell her friend, ‘It’s okay. Just look at me. You’re alright.’

Ruth couldn’t do anything but watch as three krauts passed her and began searching Frank and Hope. The one holding her finally removed his hand and holstered his pistol before turning her to face him. His grey eyes scanned her face in a way that made her skin crawl, and Ruth’s mind noted the contrast between his greys and John’s that brought her so much comfort…the ones she loved. Her hand shook as she raised her right to the side of her head, the injured one remaining immobile against her chest.

The soldier began to search her, his hands roaming over her body roughly. She closed her eyes and bit her lip to stifle a gasp as his fingers dug into her pockets, pulling out her belongings one by one. Ruth’s heart sank as she watched him confiscate John’s letter along with their picture.

It was all she had left of him.

It was then when the searching hands became invasive, his groping and grabbing fingers lingering in places they had no right to be. She clenched her eyes shut as disgust washed over her.

“That’s enough,” Frank’s voice rang out, his eyes blazing with anger. “She’s not armed.”

The hands paused and the man stepped back, seemingly satisfied with the search. Ruth’s shaky hands remained in the air while the kraut handed her effects to a man wearing a cap bearing the Nazi eagle.

‘An officer,’ she thought.

A shiver ran through Ruth as her eyes fell to the man’s upper arm. The bright red armband and swastika of the Nazi party stared back at her, and she felt as if she was looking the epitome of evil in the face.

She was.

All the death, all the destruction…it was all because of these people. All because of Adolf Hitler. If they were willing to do whatever it took to win the war, what would they be willing to do to them?

She was pulled from her worry when the officer said something in German and motioned to his men to bring the prisoners forward in a line.

One of them grasped Ruth’s good arm and pulled her to fall in line beside Hope, who sent her an scared glance. Two soldiers stood on either side of them with rifles drawn as the officer stood before the Americans, an unsettling smirk on his lips.

“For you, the war is over.”

The cool morning breeze whipping through the torn canvas walls of the truck sent goosebumps across Ruth’s body, and she tugged her flight jacket closer to her body. She sat between Frank and Hope, her good hand now securely in her best friend’s. No words had been exchanged between the crew since they’d climbed in, and with the piercing eyes of three soldiers sitting across the truck from them, their rifles sitting on their laps, the Americans were terrified.

Exhaustion wore on them, but they could not sleep or close their eyes as adrenaline still coursed through their veins. The Germans had forced them through the dense, mountainous forest for half a mile before reaching a winding road among one of the hills where a troop transport truck awaited them.

Hope’s body almost gave in as they climbed aboard the truck, her muscles aching after supporting Frank for so long. Ruth had tried to take her place multiple times but was waved off due to her injury. And that’s where they found themselves…in the back of the truck driving through the German countryside.

The landscape was beautiful. Ruins of old castles atop mountaintops, picturesque villages, and lush green forests filled with tall spruces and pines caught the women’s attention through the opening in the back of the truck. Frank could’ve cared less and stared straight ahead, trying to focus on breathing and pushing through the pain radiating from his ribs.

Before long, the truck rumbled to a stop and they all shared a worried glance when the officer appeared at the tailgate.

“Out.”

Ruth carefully hopped out first, holding her throbbing arm tight against her chest while Hope helped Frank down. Their eyes widened in awe as they were met with a scene straight out of a storybook. If it weren’t for the Nazis pushing them along the road and the rifles pointed at them, they could’ve been on vacation, sightseeing in the beautiful town before them.

The narrow cobblestone streets wound their way through a maze of old buildings, each one with intricate timber frames and colorful exteriors. Some even had window boxes overflowing with vibrant flowers, adding to the warmth and color of the village.

A rough voice broke them from their awestruck gaze, and the soldier behind Hope nudged her with his rifle. “Walk!”

As they marched through the town, bloodied and looking worse for wear, residents became aware of their presence and peered cautiously from the sides of the street. Shopkeepers paused in their tracks, their hands stilling in their work as they watched the prisoners pass. Hope and Ruth drew more than a few puzzled looks, and some townsfolk whispered among themselves with expressions mixed with confusion and concern.

"Frauen? Was machen die denn hier?" muttered a woman passing them on the road, her words carrying over the murmurs of the crowd. An elderly woman beside her shook her head, her wrinkled brow furrowed in disbelief.

The group continued through the village, and just ahead, a few children played in the street. A barely perceptible smile played on Ruth’s lips as the kids' laughter echoed off the buildings. It made her think of Billy, Sammy, and that day on the hardstand they showed her around the plane, asking millions of questions. Her eyes remained on the kids when they approached, but her smile quickly fell when the children turned to look at them with pure disdain on their features.

One of the boys’ small hands formed into the shape of a gun and he pointed it straight at them. There was no playfulness in his gesture, no hint of amusement. Instead, his eyes contained a disturbing intensity as he mimicked the actions he had likely seen performed countless times by soldiers and adults around him.

A chill ran up Ruth’s spine, her stomach churning as she watched the boy move his hand with them until they passed. She exchanged a glance with Hope and Frank, and they all recognized the chilling reality of the situation. This was not a child playing a game…this was a child who had been taught to see them as enemies, as symbols of everything that stood against the beliefs instilled in him by the governing regime.

Glancing around at the faces of the townspeople, Hope couldn’t help but wonder how many others harbored similar sentiments. How many of the German people would kill them on the spot simply for the country they served, for the freedom they were trying to protect?

“I wonder where they’re taking us,” Hope whispered to Ruth.

The blonde bit her lip, her worried eyes flicking around them. “I don’t kn-”

"Ruhig! No talking!" the guard behind Hope spat, shoving her forward roughly, making her and Frank lose their balance and fall to the cobblestone street. The Captain fought to contain a groan as his knees collided with the stones, sending a shockwave of pain through his torso.

Ruth immediately moved to help them, her hand reaching out instinctively only to be yanked back by a strong grip on the collar of her flight jacket. She stumbled backward with a small whimper as the movement jostled her arm. Her voice caught in her throat and the words she wanted to speak were trapped by the knot of fear that gripped her.

She knew that any defiance would only invite further punishment, and she couldn’t bear the thought of making their situation any worse. If the actions of the young boy taught her anything, it was that the Germans had no problems with taking care of prisoners without proper treatment. So with trembling limbs, she obeyed the soldier’s command, her worried gaze flicking anxiously between Hope and Frank as they struggled to their feet.

“Help me,” Hope pleaded, her dark eyes looking through tears at the soldiers who merely smirked. “HELP ME!”

Ruth’s eyes burned as she watched Hope pull Frank to his feet, mumbling soft apologies when he whined in protest and clutched his broken ribs.

“Move!” One of the soldiers shoved the barrel of his MP-40 into Hope’s back, prodding her harshly, “Schnell.”

Hope reached behind her, gripping Ruth’s hand tightly and giving it one squeeze before releasing the blonde’s shaky hand. The group moved forward in a single file line, careful as they stepped down the stone street. Their eyes glanced around at the German villagers watching them like hawks...one wrong move and the group knew that this town would be their final resting place.

The guards led them along the river, the water rushing passed loudly as it wound through the village. Ruth’s eyes were glued to the town’s beautiful scenery, and she knew that she might not see anything as beautiful for a long while. A few seconds later, her gaze moved to the left, and caught sight of a large white building with four figures on the wall, one proudly hoisting the Nazi flag. Ruth shivered involuntarily at the pure adoration the German people had for the regime.

‘Some of them must not agree…right?’ she thought.

“Move, bitch,” one of the soldiers sneered, pushing the barrel of his gun into Hope’s back once more. Her jaw tightened and she knew resisting wasn’t going to be good for any of them, but she couldn’t help the urge to slap that stupid smirk on his face. She turned on her heels just as Ruth caught her arm, sending her a pitiful look that instantly caused Hope to soften. She nodded once in a silent promise that she’d behave, despite the anger rising within her. Frank nudged his shoulder into Hope, encouraging her to keep moving. It was a team effort for them all to survive, each having to bite their tongue and remain calm for their friends.

All too soon, the trio were ushered into a large building just beside the train tracks, and they could only assume it was the station.

Ruth’s heart dropped…They were being transported by rail, which meant the Americans were being taken farther into Germany…probably much farther.

Large letters hung above the door, the dark wood in contrast with the off-white stone of the building.

SCHILTACH

‘So that’s where we are,’ Ruth thought. She’d never heard of the city, but its name and what she experienced there would surely haunt her for the rest of her life.

It was a rundown building with cracks streaking up the walls, and any recollection of its pre-war days had long been extinguished. The walk through the building was short, and the soldiers quickly filed them through a single door and out onto the platform where a cargo train was stationed. Several more German soldiers and officers lined the platform, two with Alsatian dogs on leashes that somehow looked even more menacing than their handlers.

The officer leading them to the station stepped away, talking in hushed tones to another officer before nodding to his men. Frank was the first to be pushed forward and moved towards a railroad car, the door sliding open with a loud clang. The train cars were old, their outer wooden slats rotten and falling easily from their frames. They hardly looked worthy of a people who thought of themselves as the “superior race.”

Frank glanced back at the girls and stepped inside, disappearing into the darkness. It occurred then to Ruth that this might be their last time together. What happens if they get split up into different rail cars or trains? The thought of being alone without Hope and Frank filled Ruth with more anxiety, and she subtly grasped Hope’s arm.

The soldier behind Hope chuckled, leaning close to her ear and whispering, “You go next, schlampe.” Her whole body tensed as she stepped forward, feeling Ruth’s grip on her arm disappear. She couldn’t see into the train car and stepped in blindly, fumbling around until her hands fell onto a warm chest that smelt like the all too familiar aftershave.

From the moment Hope disappeared into the rail car, Ruth began to pray.

‘Please let me stay with them, Lord. Please. I can’t do this without them.’

She stood there holding her breath as the seconds ticked by like hours, and just when she began to lose hope, a hand collided with her back and shoved her forward. The sudden movement jostled her arm as she blindly fumbled around the dark train car until her waving hand finally grasped something warm. Knowing it was Hope, she melted into the woman, tears once again filling her eyes when a strong arm wrapped around her.

“We’re gonna be alright,” Frank assured them, rubbing their arms gently.

For some reason, now that they were away from the prying eyes of the Germans, they felt safer. It was like they could breathe easily for a little while. The railcar door suddenly slammed shut, plunging them into darkness. It was then Ruth noticed the smell…the strong stench of stale urine mixed with sweat and vomit. The rancid odor burned her nostrils with every breath, and nausea swirled in her stomach at the thought of what had happened in the car before them.

Who were they?

Where were they taken?

Were they alive?

The floor was damp beneath their feet and she could only imagine what they were walking on.

It was best not to know.

The trio settled down in the corner of the train where a small beam of light pierced through the darkness, illuminating just a small amount of the cramped quarters. Sighing, Hope slipped down the wall, nestling between Ruth and Frank. They all looked far worse for wear than earlier, and Hope wished she still had her musette bag of supplies. Reluctantly, she peeled the blood fabric of her overalls away from her right knee, examining the deep, angry gash that ran across the joint. She hissed, pulling the fabric back down and meeting Ruth’s eyes.

“It’s not that bad,” she whispered, placing a comforting hand upon Ruth’s, smiling through gritted teeth.

Ruth’s eyes drifted back down to Hope’s knee, eyeing the growing crimson patch suspiciously. She’d known Hope long enough to know when she was lying, but knowing Hope, she wouldn’t admit how much pain she was truly in. Her blue eyes rose to Hope’s dark ones, “It looks pretty bad to me, Hope. I…”

“Hey, don’t worry about me, alright? Everything’s going to be fine, I promise.” Hope felt guilty, she knew she shouldn’t make promises she couldn’t keep, but seeing how Ruth visibly relaxed a little made the lie worth it.

What good would it do to make her best friend more worried?

The train rumbled to life and slowly pulled away from the station, sending a domino of shakes and shudders down the railcar as it pulled out of the station. The rocking was oddly comforting, like how a baby likes to be rocked in its bassinet, and after the trauma of the day, they needed any ounce of comfort they could get. Ruth finally relaxed into Hope’s side, burying her head into the crook of her neck as Frank sat quietly on the other side clutching his ribs, his breathing quieter now. Wherever they were going, it was probably a long ride, and for a moment they took comfort in the solace.

They must have drifted asleep because the next thing Hope remembered was the large container door being swung open, flooding the train car with a bright white light. She squished herself back into Frank, who had his arm protectively around her shoulder, trying to bury her head from the blinding light. Four figures stumbled through the light, disappearing into the darkened end of the car before the door swung closed once more. Everyone in the car remained silent, only the noise of Frank’s heavy breathing could be heard.

“Is someone in here?” A rather posh English accent was emitted from the darkness. Nobody spoke, too afraid of what more people in the car meant for them. “Hello?”

“What do you want?” Frank spoke up, his voice gruff and hoarse from the dusty air within the train car.

“Nothing,” the man replied, “Other than to know where they’re sending us.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Hope replied, shuffling forward until Frank’s hand came across her chest, stopping her movements. She could see the whites of his eyes in the darkness looking at her sternly and beside him Ruth’s eyes stared wide and frightened.

“Is that a woman’s voice?” Another man asked, followed by a shuffling noise. It sounded as though the men were approaching them and Hope held her breath until her hand came into contact with a warm body.

“I’m Wing Commander Jones, this man to my right is Squadron Leader Colman. The two on my left are Flight Officers Carter and Williams. We’re with the RAF,” Jones spoke up, reaching his hand out for Hope to shake. Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness and she could make out the rather battered features of the Wing Commander. He was a handsome fella, only in his late 20s with sandy blonde hair. The other three men looked no better off, all bloody and bruised.

“I’m First Lieutenant Hope Armstrong, I’m a U.S. Flight Nurse. This is my colleague Second Lieutenant Ruth Morgan and our pilot, Captain Frank Martin.”

The men all nodded in greeting, and Frank and Ruth greeted them in turn before the pilots took their seats on the rough wooden floor, huddling together like the trio had when they had first boarded.

The locomotive soon rumbled to life again, pulling away from the station with its wheels clattering loudly against the tracks. The wind whooshed past the engine, creating an eerie whistling noise between the railcars. The occupants remained silent, all too deep in their own thoughts to talk amongst themselves.

Ruth moved to rest her head against Hope’s chest, snuggling into her friend's flight jacket and enjoying the familiar smell of Hope. She felt safe, warm, and familiar…something that the blonde clung to as they rocked to and fro in the dark. Ruth’s heart rate slowed a little in the familiar embrace. She just wanted to sleep, the pain in her arm having ebbed to a dull ache for the time being. As long as she didn’t move the limb, it wasn’t too bad.

“You okay?” Hope whispered, pushing a few wisps of blonde hair from her friend's forehead. Ruth looked up at her, large blue eyes reflecting in the dim light. They looked tearful, and Hope drew her arm up around Ruth, pulling her against her body.

“It will be alright, Rue. You’ll see. We’ll be okay,” she mumbled, pressing her lips to Ruth’s forehead.

“You can’t promise that,” Ruth mumbled, snuggling her head further into Hope’s chest, hearing her heart beating strongly against her ear reminding her that they were still alive. “Are you scared?”

Hope nodded, letting a few tears slip silently down her cheeks, the image of her best friend looking so broken and forlorn hurt more than she could bear. “Course, I’m scared, Rue, but we’ve got to be strong. We’ve got to get back to John and Gale, remember? And Hugh too.”

A small smile spread across Ruth’s lips as Hope jokingly added her brother as an afterthought.

“If I remember rightly, I have a wedding to get to, and I need my maid of honor there with me,” Hope glanced down at Ruth, looking upon the mass of blonde curls that now lay in her lap. She wished she could be as scared as Ruth, and truly she was, but something in her made her stay strong. She couldn’t afford to give up hope yet.

Ruth rolled onto her side, looking up at her friend, a small smile playing on her lips, “I can’t wait for your wedding. You’re gonna look so beautiful, Hope.”

Ruth had to admit that she’d been a little more than excited about the prospect of a wedding. They had so little to look forward to in this darn war that it was the highlight of Ruth’s year, well maybe after meeting John, of course.

Hope smiled weakly, “Thanks, Rue. That’s why I need my best girl there beside me. I can’t do it all alone,” she shook her friends' shoulders playfully, careful to mind her injured arm.

“You won’t be alone, you’ll have Gale,” Ruth corrected her, “And we all know that you won’t be needing me after you're married. You two will be having too much fun,” Ruth smiled sadly, the reality of them splitting up hitting her more than she’d ever realized. They’d taken for granted every day they’d been able to spend together, and the thought of not seeing Hope’s smiling face daily made her heart ache a little more.

Noticing Hope’s strained expression, she piped up. “I don’t know if John would like the idea of me being your best girl instead of his.”

Hope chuckled, “Hey, I claimed you first. You’ll always be my best girl, Ruth.” She brushed her fingers softly over the older woman’s forehead, tracing the worry lines with her index finger. “Love you, Rue.”

Ruth wasn’t sure why Hope had suddenly turned so sentimental, normally she was the levelheaded one of the pair, the quick thinker, the reliable one, but now..

“Love you too, Hope,” she replied quietly, her eyes drawing closed as she slipped out of consciousness again as the rocking of the railcar sent her to sleep.

The red leaves of the maple trees danced in the wind as Ruth’s small feet pedaled down her street, waving to neighbors as she passed. Her training wheels wobbled beneath her, but it didn’t stop her from going just as fast as the other speeding by.

“Who you got tonight?” Jimmy Watson called from across the road, pausing from raking the hundreds of leaves from his yard. His lines on his elderly face always seemed to soften at the sight of the girl.

A wide, toothy grin grew on her face, and she slowed her pace. “You know who!”

“Nahhh, there’s no way they’ll win,” Jimmy laughed. “They’re on a 15 game losing-streak.”

Ruth pedaled faster with a shrug. “We’ll see! Talk to ya’ later!”

Just as she reached her driveway, a little boy came bursting through the door, his blonde curls bouncing as he ran towards her. “Ruth! They’re about to throw the first pitch! Come on!”

She quickly dismounted and leaned her bike against the garage door, following her brother into the house as their shoes squeaked on the floors. With a quick reminder of “no shoes in the house” from their mother, the siblings ran into the living room and cranked up the radio.

They lay on the rug beside the radio, their eyes sparkling with excitement as they listened to the game on the edge of their ‘seats.’ Jimmy was right…the Braves were on a 15-game losing streak, but Ruth had hope.

‘This is the one,’ she thought. ‘This is it.’

As the crackling voice of the announcer filled the room, the Morgans were bursting at the seams with anticipation. “Bobby Smith winds up…throws…and it’s a curve ball just dotting the corner of batter’s box for strike one!”

With an excited squeal, Ruth raised her hand to high-five James, but when she turned, he was gone. She glanced around the room with furrowed brows as static suddenly burst through the radio, the harsh sound making her jump.

What was going on?

She rose to her feet quickly and called out for her family. “Mama? Jamie? Daddy?”

“Ruth.”

Confusion clouded her mind as the scene around her began to shift, the walls of her childhood living room melting away like wax in a fire. The comforting warmth of the room was replaced by the dimly lit interior of a pub that she quickly recognized as the one in Dickleburgh. Blinking in surprise, Ruth tried to make sense of the sudden change, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked around, searching for anything to tell her what was going on.

And then, she saw him…John, sitting across from her with his signature grin plastered on his face.

When did she sit down at a table?

“You alright there, doll?” he asked, his voice cutting through the haze of her confusion.

Ruth glanced around the room, noticing for the first time the few people scattered across the pub. “Uh, yeah,” she shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I must have been daydreaming.”

He raised an eyebrow mischievously. “About me?”

“Oh, shut it. You wish.”

“It was about me, wasn’t it.”

Was it? What was she even thinking of before?

“Maybe,” she replied anyway with a strained smile as she met his gase. “But, uh, don’t let it go to your head, hotshot.”

Before John responded, a subtle shift in his demeanor caught her attention. The playful gleam in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a look of concern that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Ruth,” he said, his voice suddenly serious as he reached across the table to take her hand in his. “You need to wake up.”

His words caused a surge of panic to grip her heart. Was she dreaming? Was any of this real?

“What do you mean?” she asked with a trembling voice.

Johnny leaned forward, his eyes searching hers intensely. “Listen to me, Ruth,” he said urgently, his voice low but firm. “You need to wake up. They’re coming…you need to be ready. I love you.”

With a gasp, Ruth jolted awake, her heart racing as the remnants of her dream faded into the reality of her situation. For a split second, she felt disoriented, unsure of where she was or what was happening around her. But then, the traincar shuddered to a halt and jolted them forward before slamming them back against the hard, wooden wall of the car. Her eyes widened in alarm as the door to the railcar was thrown open, flooding the dimly lit space with blinding daylight.

“OUT! OUT! OUT!”

Without hesitation, Ruth scrambled to her feet beside the rest of the prisoners, her muscles aching from the uncomfortable position she’d been sleeping in. The prisoners all jostled against each other to climb through the door, sending sharp pains through her arm. Hope hopped down first, turning to help Ruth, but she was pushed forward just as the blonde reached for her hand. Ruth watched in horror as a German wrapped his arms around her and pulled her away.

“No! Hope!” Ruth cried, trying desperately to push through the prisoners toward her friend, but the densely packed bodies were too tight. “Hope!”

As she was shoved with the flow of the crowd, Frank suddenly appeared beside her, his face screwed up in a pained expression. “Where is she?!”

“We got separated! A Kraut grabbed her! I-”

He instantly rose to his full height and looked over the dozens of heads surrounding them, his eyes scanning the faces of the scared prisoners. Frank then realized there were many more railcars behind theirs, adding even more panicked soldiers to the already busy platform.

Just when he was about to give up, he caught a flash of Hope’s long, dark hair, and his heart rose to his throat. But just as quickly as he saw her, she was gone.

“Hope!”

Ruth clutched Frank’s A-2 jacket tightly as tears trickled down her cheeks. A few moments later, the prisoners were forced into a single file line and led through the disgusting, run-down wartime lobby of Frankfurt’s main railway station. Groups of angry civilians lined the sides of the station, but to their relief, the people thenkfully restraining themselves from attacking. Both of them kept looking over their shoulder for any sign of Hope but were pulled from their search when a thick German accent filled the air. “You two!”

Stepping out of line, they stood in front of the German. He wore a different uniform than the other guards, the grey of the others replaced by a dark blue.

“You are with the Air Forces, yes?”

‘So he’s Luftwaffe.’ Ruth thought.

Frank nodded silently and Ruth tried to blink away her tears, but they wouldn’t stop.

Where was Hope?

Where was her best friend?

“You come with me.”

The duo shared a wary glance before slowly following him, two other guards behind them as they walked down a hallway, its dark green paint peeling and chipping with age. He led them through a door and to a transport truck much like the one they’d arrived to Schiltach in. As they slowly climbed aboard, the officer raised an eyebrow.

“There were three of you? Another woman, yes?”

Ruth nodded again while Frank dared to speak. “We were separated. One of your guys dragged her away.”

He seemed to briefly contemplate the Captain’s words, then wordlessly walked back into the station, leaving the prisoners under the supervision of two Luftwaffe soldiers too caught up in their conversation to worry about the Americans.

“Do you think he’s finding Hope?” Ruth asked quietly, quickly wiping the tears from her face. They stung the small cuts from her crash, but that was the least of her worries.

“I hope so.”

The pair were made aware of another prisoner’s presence as a cough from further into the truck filled the air. “How’d you end up becoming a POW, ma’am? Haven’t seen any women during my lovely tour through France and Germany.”

Turning towards him, Ruth’s eyes narrowed slightly as she scanned his face.

He looked so familiar.

The airman wore her same puzzled expression for a few moments until recognition dawned on him. “Wait…You’re Bucky’s girl, aren’t you? The flight nurse?”

She nodded, her hand flying to her mouth as she realized she’d seen him around Thorpe Abbotts.

He was in the Hundredth! He knew John and Buck!

“We’ve never been introduced, but the name’s Bob. Bob Wolff. I’m in…or was in the 418th with Egan. Best Squadron Commander I’ve ever had. Amazing leader.”

A teary smile grew on her lips. “He is, isn’t he?” she paused, her mind thinking of her beloved Major. “It’s nice to meet you, Bob. I’m Ruth, and this is our pilot, Frank. We don’t…we don't know where Hope is.”

“Hope? Cleven’s fiancée, Hope?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh boy,” Bob sighed, running a tired hand down his face. “Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not in Thorpe Abbotts right now.”

Frank and Ruth shared a confused glance and looked back at the man. “What do you mean?”

“I have a feeling a few firecrackers are gonna go off until they get word you’re alive.”

“If they get word we’re alive,” Frank muttered under his breath.

If Ruth was being completely honest, she hadn’t thought of how John would take the news. It was no secret that Bucky Egan could be a hothead, aways the first one to volunteer to fight in the pubs when the RAF got under the Americans’ skin. But that was something as trivial as annoyance…how would he react to her going down?

The blonde knew how she’d react if their roles were reversed…she would crumble.

Would he revert to his old habits?

She prayed he wouldn’t.

Before she could speak, the loud opening of the station’s side door stole their attention. Relief washed over them at the sight of Hope emerging from the building. The Luftwaffe officer led her by the elbow, showing a surprising level of respect compared to the rough treatment they’d experienced earlier.

Wolff moved toward the back of the truck to sit across from them and extended a hand to Hope, who took it with a nod. Ruth shot to her feet the second she was on board and enveloped her into a tight embrace, ignoring the pain shooting through her arm at the movement.

“I-I tried to get to you,” Ruth whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Hope returned the hug, pulling back with tear-filled eyes. “It’s okay, Rue. I know.”

From beside them, Frank’s brows furrowed as he caught sight of something on her neck. He gently reached out and brushed aside Hope’s dark hair, revealing a series of finger-shaped bruises forming along her throat. Anger flared within the man at the sight, and his fists clenched at his sides.

“What happened?” Frank asked, his voice low and protective

“I fought against the kraut that grabbed me…he didn’t like that.”

Frank realized she didn’t really want to say anymore and gave her hand a tight squeeze. She reached up, rubbing the bruises on her neck and collar bone. The guards soon climbed on board, and the trio sat along the wooden benches as the truck rumbled to life, taking off down the road. Hope intertwined her hand with Ruth’s and offered a comforting squeeze while Frank stared daggers at the Luftwaffe airmen in the truck.

It was only around twenty minutes when the truck rolled to a stop in front of a multiple-building complex surrounded by barbed wire and guard posts. A large wooden sign with white lettering stood at the entrance, and they all stared at the words as if they could possibly decipher the sign’s meaning despite not speaking a word of the language.

The officer reappeared at the tailgate, gesturing his head to the side. “Get out.”

They all followed the orders and hopped out of the truck, their boots squelching in the mud beneath their feet. Each helping the person behind them down until the four were led into the camp. The barbed wire stood tall above them as they silently walked through the gate and into a nearby wooden building.

A few desks were scattered about, and the multiple windows allowed the bright sunlight to illuminate the otherwise dark room. Without a word, they were directed to stand in a line, their backs against the wall. The ever-present knot of anxiety in Ruth’s stomach reared its ugly head and she felt nauseous…this was really happening.

One by one, they were called forward to be fingerprinted and photographed. Ruth was called first and felt a shiver go down her spine as the soldier roughly grabbed her hand and pressed her fingers onto the cold and inky pad, stamping it onto her processing form. She then moved further down the line to the photographer, whose face held the first semblance of sympathy she’d seen all day.

“Against the wall, please.”

Ruth obeyed and stood against the wall, forcing the corners of her lips to raise just slightly into a smile…or at least the best one she could muster. As the man raised the camera, her mind flashed back to the last time her picture was taken.

“Hey, Schwarz. Mind getting a picture of just the two of us?”

He nodded enthusiastically, adjusting the camera to focus on the couple. Bucky flashed a charming smile as he reached over and gently tugged Ruth from her chair into his lap.

“Hey!” she protested playfully, her cheeks flushing pink as John wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close.

Ruth giggled as Johnny leaned in, his cheek pressing against hers as they posed for the picture. Despite her initial protest, she found herself melting into his embrace. The photographer chuckled at their antics, capturing the moment with a few clicks of his camera. She glanced up at the Major just as Schwarz lowered his camera, and Bucky planted a soft kiss on her lips.

The table erupted into a chorus of whistles and hoots, their friends cheering them on as they kissed. Ruth laughed against John’s lips, feeling a rush of happiness and warmth enveloping her. Pulling back slightly, John gazed into her blue eyes, his own filled with pure adoration as her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink.

The camera’s click pulled her from her thoughts, and she tried to blink away the memory.

“Go sit,” the German directed, pointing to the benches in the corner of the room.

As she sat down on the bench, her body ached. She needed to be in a safe place, a comfortable space to sleep soundly, but her hope for that dream lessened as every moment passed. With a quiet sigh, Ruth blinked away tears that filled her eyes and watched Frank, Hope, and Bob go through processing. One by one, they joined her on the bench, none of them brave enough to speak in the stifling atmosphere of the room.

Once they were all finished, they were escorted from the intake building to a much smaller one across a large, muddy courtyard. A wall of warmth hit them as they shuffled into the room, and Ruth’s stomach growled at the smell of food being cooked. She didn’t know what it was, but it made her realize they hadn’t eaten all day. When the call came for their run, Ruth had grabbed a few pieces of bacon and planned to grab an actual meal when they got back to base later.

That plan went up in smoke the second their plane did.

They walked further into the room and sat at one of the long tables set up, Hope found her mouth watering. The four Americans shared confused glances while waiting for someone to speak. They stared at the officer expectantly, but he just nodded at something behind him and moved to stand by the door.

The RAF men who were with them on the train soon appeared in the doorway and were ushered towards their table. They all shared confused looks until a door opened at the other end of the room and several weathered-looking men walked in. They were dressed in the Air Force blue that the RAF was known for, their hair a little longer and shaggier than the pilots they had arrived with. Many of them had beards or some other sort of facial hair and they looked tired, dark circles under most of their eyes.

One of the younger men set out a bowl in front of each of the people sat around the table. Hope glanced over at Ruth who shared her confused expression.

Were they going to feed them?

The other two prisoners pushed a stainless steel trolley with a large silver pot on top. They opened the lid, revealing a steaming, brown liquid that was quickly slopped into the bowls. Hope grimaced at the chunks floating in the watery, brown soup. She decided not to ask what it was made of.

“How long have you been here?” Wing Commander Jones asked the youngest prisoner, grabbing his arm to stop him as he retreated from the table.

“I don’t know,” the young man admitted, his pale blue eyes casting a quick glance over the table. “Welcome to Germany, Sir.”

“Welcome to hell, more like,” one of the older men serving the soup spoke quietly, gazing over at the two Luftwaffe officers who remained in the doorway. “Just keep your heads low and keep out of trouble until they move you on. You shouldn’t be at Dulag Luft too long.”

“Move us on?” Frank spoke up. “Where do they move us to?”

The man shrugged, his uniform slipping a little on his thin, boney shoulders. The girls shared a look…a silent question.

How long would they be here?

“No one knows. Dulag Luft is where they hold you until they decide where to send you for the rest of the war. Some are here a few days, others a few weeks. Depends how long it takes them to place you,” he remarked, securing the lid back on the now empty pot. “You’re lucky if you get one run by the Luftwaffe. I hear they treat prisoners better than the Wehrmacht.”

The three prisoners retreated back through the doors at the end of the hall, followed by one of the officers, and the group was left in silence. Those at the table all shared the same anxious look, and even the Wing Commander’s dark eyebrows pulled tightly together.

“We should eat up,” Squadron Leader Colman interrupted the silence, digging his little spoon into the soup. He swallowed the liquid quickly, and Ruth wondered whether that was a good or bad thing. Regardless, they all followed suit, eating the bland soup quickly. Hope relished at the feeling of the warm liquid slipping down her throat, soothing her nerves slightly. It didn’t taste good, but it was warm, and that was all she could ask for.

As soon as they finished eating, three Luftwaffe officers strolled into the room, their long boots tapping harshly against the wooden floor of the hut.

“Up. Up,” the first one ordered, pushing several RAF men out of their chairs before moving around to the Americans. They formed an orderly line but no one dared to speak. The German officer at the front spun on his heels, marching loudly up the hall to which everyone followed.

Hope glanced nervously behind her, catching Ruth’s wide eyes as she sent her a reassuring smile. The younger nurse kept her pace just behind Frank, ensuring she didn’t fall behind the other prisoners.

They were led out of the mess hut and past a courtyard into another long, wooden building resembling the others they’d seen. The air turned bitterly cold as the evening drew in, and a shiver ran through Ruth as she wrapped her arms around herself, tucking her freezing hands into her armpits.

The officer swung open a door and led the prisoners into the building connected to the one beside it by a narrow passage. As they followed him through the compound, Ruth’s stomach swirled with anxiety at the dozens of doors that lined the long hallway. She had a sinking feeling there were prisoners on the other side of each.

Just how many prisoners were there?

When the line came to a sudden stop, Ruth watched as a guard unlocked one of the doors, throwing it open with a loud creak. “In,” he commanded Wing Commander Jones who glanced back at his men before stepping inside, the door shutting quickly behind him.

They moved to the cell next door and repeated the same action with Squadron Leader Colman. It was then that reality hit Ruth, and she realized they were being split up. The anxiety within her turned to pure dread, and the nurse fought to keep the tears from welling in her eyes. Hope had always been there beside her, helping her when things were falling apart, but what would she do without her? What would happen to either of them if they were alone?

Hope came to the same conclusion, reaching cautiously behind her until Ruth grasped her hand silently. She squeezed the blonde’s hand reassuringly in a silent promise that everything would be okay, even if she didn’t believe that herself.

Staying calm only grew harder as the line of prisoners dwindled, and Frank sent the girls a pained smile just as a guard shoved him into a cell, closing the door with a bang.

Hope was next.

The guards moved to unlock a cell a few down from Frank’s, the wooden door swinging back with an eerie creak to reveal the dark room within. Ruth’s mind reeled as she watched Hope stare into the cell, unable to step forward. As much as she wanted to stay with her, she silently urged her to step inside, to go without a fight.

Resisting would do nothing but worsen their already terrible situation.

Before Hope worked up the courage to step forward, the guard shoved her into the cell, shutting the door behind her. Hopelessness washed over Ruth, and tears finally trickled down her cheeks as she heard her friend’s muffled and panicked cries through the thick door.

“No! RUTH!”

“Hope!!” She yelled back, her voice cracking while the guards moved her down the hall. “I’ll be okay!”

Ruth wiped her wet cheeks with her sleeve, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm her racing heart, but nothing worked.

She was alone.

With every step farther from Hope and Frank, her hope dwindled, as well as her composure. They took a right down another identical hall, and the thud of Ruth’s boots were the only sound echoing through the long corridor. Just as with the other prisoners, the officer stopped, gesturing to the guard to unlock the cell. With an even louder shriek than Hope’s, the door swung open.

From where the light spilled into the dark room, Ruth saw a wooden cot and a chair pushed against the corner. She swallowed thickly and stepped forward into the cell, her nose wrinkling at its dank smell when the door slammed behind her. It took a few moments for her tear-filled eyes to adjust to the newfound darkness.

Ruth ran her hand along the wall until she reached the corner and carefully sank to the floor, the cold, rough walls pressing in on her from all sides. Alone in the darkness, fear gnawed at her insides, twisting and turning until she felt as though she might suffocate beneath its grip.

Taking a shaky breath, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cold block wall, her throbbing arm hugged to her chest. “Lord, please give me strength,” Ruth whispered, her voice cracking as tears spilled down her cheeks. “Give us all the strength to make it through this. Please.”

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