𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐩𝐞 - j.egan [masters of the air]

∣ 018; o l d f r i e n d

. *. ⋆

It was April 13th, 1945.

The snow in Germany had begun to melt, the icy wind no longer burning their faces as they ran through the barbed-wired walls of Stalag Luft I— they no longer had to wrap themselves with their thick scarves to combat the pain from the cold environment.

Eloise no longer had to dig her hands into the thin pockets of her pants to try and get rid of the burning in her hands that was constant at all times. Now, the burning had subsided, only a mere tingling— it was still cold, but not nearly as cold as it had been from the blizzards they had endured in the camp.

However, now, Eloise would take that situation over the current one she and the rest of the men occupying Stalag Luft I were officially in.

It had finally happened, their predictions— surprisingly, it took longer than they had expected, given that the Russians were getting close.

That's why they were in such a rush, getting yelled at by the Nazi soldiers, pushed around by the men to get to the front gate as sirens echoed throughout the war camp. Bombings could be heard miles away, smoke filling the air.

They had less than thirty minutes to prepare to march to their new location, their feet hurried and staggered as they were pushed roughly along their backs.

Eloise stayed close with Heath, Louis, Walter, and Andrew, the five remaining so close they could feel the body heat radiating off one another— they didn't care, pressing themselves shoulder to shoulder. At the same time, they listened to the Nazis scream at the other men to hurry and to keep walking.

"What are the odds we're getting moved to a new camp?"

"I'd say 98%."

"Odds we're going to be murdered instead?"

"I don't even want to think about it."

Their voices were hushed and husky, and they wore their heaviest coats to keep the warmth close to their bodies.

Heath looked around, turning his voice to the four, "Are we doing it tonight? Are we going through with the plan?"

And they all looked to Eloise who was rubbing her hands together— she'd looked better; in fact, the last few days had affected her negatively, making her look like she was days away from death.

Her eyes contained dark circles beneath them and her face was a ghostly white. The normal pink tone on her cheeks was dulled to the deathly pale that her entire body showed. Even her lips were dull, and the once soft skin was severely chapped from the environment.

She was an entirely different person than when she first entered the camp.

Her hair was different, too— she had cut it weeks ago, the brown strands falling just past her shoulders than where it used to be at her mid-back. It was more convenient on her end. It was easier to braid and it didn't stand out as much as it used to. It was easier for her to remain one with the crowd of men.

At Heath's question, Eloise shook her head, "No."

"What?"

"But we spent over a year— "

"No," She whispered. "I overheard them talking. They're expecting people to attempt to escape. Forget it. We'll figure something else out."

"But— "

"I will figure something else out."

"Are you sure?"

Eloise nodded, hands digging deep in her pockets, her hands latching onto the blade she had made from a metal piece of one of the lighting structures in their old room.